


Your Filthy Soul

by eventidexilluminations



Series: Rise and Fall, Rage and Grace [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: ATC Castiel, Abusive Father, Alternate Universe, Anger Control Problems, Castiel and Jimmy Novak Are Twins, Child Abuse, Childhood Memories, F/M, Homophobia, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Minor Character Death, Past Child Abuse, Past Drug Addiction, Past Drug Use, anger issues, power abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-03-26 11:00:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 75,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3848473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eventidexilluminations/pseuds/eventidexilluminations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years after moving to Lawrence, Castiel finds himself happy with his life. He has Dean, he has Queen, they have allergy medicine, he has friends and a job he loves, it is a good life. </p><p>Then tragedy strikes and Castiel can feel his life falling apart in the blink of an eye, so of course he ends up doing the one thing that makes a bad situation even worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should be working on Silent Film Star, but this possible story has been floating around in my head since I finished It Takes Two. I was meaning to do a housewarming/birthday party small fic, it's being worked on now, but for now it'll be this. I even decided to make this a series and the name of it is based on an album, I thought it was rather fitting.
> 
> I guess you can read this without reading the first story, there are a few references to it, though it shouldn't be too confusing or anything.
> 
> Feel free to leave comments or anything you may like.
> 
> Enjoy! :D

Five years went by in the blink of an eye since that run in at the entrance of a Trader Joe's, where Dean met Castiel and they had what he liked to joked now was one hell of a first date. In these five years, after everything with Lilith and Azazel had settled down, there had been no real trouble in their lives. Yes, sometimes they fought over what they later realised were stupid little things or even major things and sometimes Castiel got fed up with some of his habits and vice versa, but if they had a perfect little life, then they may as well live in a fantasy world.

Bumps in the road were expected, really.

One major bump was that when he first moved in, Castiel would abruptly shut himself off and fall into a depression that Dean had no idea what to do with because it felt like everything he would do made it worse. It seemed like he would be perfectly happy one day and the next refuse to get out of bed or do anything or the smallest things would make him cry or overreact. Now, Dean was never one to have lots of touchy feely moments, they were not his thing, and he never saw these episodes as a burden to deal with, he helped what he could, but the fifth time this rolled around in the span of the first seven months he was in Lawrence, he suggested to him maybe he should talk to someone, if he was not going to talk to him.

That had not been pretty.

Castiel had remained composed for some time, politely declining the need, insisting he was fine and that it would pass, this happened sometimes, happened to everyone. Then Dean had said one thing–what, he did not know even to this day–and the other had exploded, screaming at him to leave him the fuck alone, he did not need his help or anyone's help, he did everything himself since before he could tie his shoes, that he later taught himself to tie, he could handle this and had stormed out of the house, taking off in his Continental in the middle of the night.

A call from Ellen not long after had him going to her bar to pick up a very wasted Castiel that had tripped in there and he did not even want to begin to think how much the man had to drink to leave him in this state with the absurdly high tolerance he had. Afterwards, the ATC had not mentioned what it was that set him off, merely stumbled into the kitchen hours later and collapsed in one of the chairs, staring glumly at the cup of coffee he handed over.

"Who did you have in mind?"

For the sake of it not being noted in his medical record–if it was, he might have trouble at work, he said–he ended up seeing a family friend, Missouri. Dean was not sure how that had went, the other spoke little of his sessions, but since the last session he had, Castiel's depressive episodes had appeared to lessen and he said he did not have to go anymore, so he would say good.

At least, he would until this morning.

With Castiel's job, his hours were everywhere, sometimes he would get out at nine in the morning then go in at five the same day. Other times, he would go in at three in the morning. All times, however, he would find Dean, even if he had to swing by his work on the way and give him a parting kiss. That meant he was woken up briefly at one or so in the morning with a kiss then Castiel would leave, having to leave at least two hours early to get to Wichita on time. It was the closest airport he could transfer to and said he did not mind the time it took to get there.

In any case, the waking process was gentle. The last time he had been jarred awake was not even a day after they met, when the other had been so mad at him he tried choking the life out of him. Unpleasant, very much so, and he still preferred that anger to what he woke to this morning.

"… D-Dean, _please!_ Wake up!"

Ungraceful in his return to awareness, snorting and drooling, that meant little to him when he saw how Castiel looked. Fresh tears were spilling over, cheeks and nose already reddened, looking absolutely torn up as he clutched on desperately to his shoulders, from having been shaking him awake. Sitting up, Castiel stepped back from his spot to allow him movement, though not letting go.

"Cas, what's wrong?"

"I-I… I need-need you to take… take…"

In all their time together, he had never seen him have such trouble with anything, his voice cracking and gasping every few words to attempt from sobbing. The mechanic stood up, careful not to move his hands away, simply placing his on top.

"Breathe. Just breathe, tell me where, I'll do it."

Castiel swallowed, trying to take in a steady breath through his nose and stuttering a few times in the attempt, some trouble present in saying what he needed to.

"P-Pontiac."

Nothing more had to be said, Dean got dressed, they got into the Impala and he was shooting down the I-70 at a frankly alarming speed. His attention should have been only on the road, especially with how fast he was going, though his concern was also on Castiel, who was not crying as much now, only a few tears escaping. Instead, his head was resting on the window, breath intermittently fogging it up and blunt nails stabbing repeatedly into the joint of his right hand's middle finger. That got him to take the male's hand, knowing that he had grown into that habit once his fingers had almost completely healed and he was troubled, the initial pain he had felt distracted him, he said, though the physical therapist he went to when he first had to regain proper use of his fingers told him all the time not to do that.

"Talk to me. What's going on?"

Twenty minutes later, his answer started with a squeeze to his hand followed by quiet words.

"My mother's in the hospital."

Dean had the pleasure of first meeting Naomi Novak on Jimmy and Castiel's thirty-first birthday which also doubled as a sort housewarming party for him, and she was a sweet woman. Fiercely protective of her sons and she was not amused by Balthazar's joke, though he was at watching the Brit be scolded by her. She was also wary of him being with her son, not unfounded given everything that had happened.

But she had warmed up to him in time and he had liked her from the beginning. It hurt, a little, to have this motherly affection after so long, be it from a few states over or up close and he had difficulty accepting it at first, another fight of theirs stemming from it. Now, he had accepted it and though Castiel and he were not married, she was like a mother-in-law to him, she was family. Nowhere near as devastated as Castiel at the news though and he counted that as a good thing, if only because it let him drive unencumbered.

Two hours was what he managed to shed off the drive. And the other seemed thankful about that, running into the hospital and the poor guy, he looked ready to collapse when they got to the receptionist, Dean had to be the one to talk to the nurse.

"Castiel!"

The man had spared no time in going to his brother and accepting his embrace, lingering in it and Dean saw Jimmy's mouth move, too far to hear and putting his focus instead on getting them signed in. Once they were and the nurse handed over two stickers with the hospital's logo and their names written on them, he made their way to them, picking up the last bits of their conversation.

"… say they don't know if she'll survive the week."

The ATC stared at his brother and his news blankly, the words sticking only for a moment then rejecting violently and he shook his head.

"That's because they don't know mother. Where is she?"

No, his mother was strong, she ate healthy, she kept in shape, she was his mother, she was immovable, she was strong, the doctors had no idea what they were talking about, they did not know her like he did.

She was the one who always protected him, kept it from getting too bad, who told him when he was little that he was not broken like he was led to believe, who kept him going, she showed him what it was to stay strong for family.

How could this be the same woman laying on the bed, hooked up to more things than he would like to count, breathing tube included, the beep beep beeping of the monitor and hissing of the respirator the only thing showing she was still alive, her heart was beating?

"Oh my God…"

He just barely managed to fling the door open to the small bathroom attached to the room, sick splatting into the bowl and a hand rubbed his back, something that did nothing, she was still there and he dry heaved a few times until the his abdomen cramped and every breath did not feel like it was going to make him puke his guts out.

"Cas, do you want to take a minute-"

"No. No, I'm… perfectly fine. I can stay. I _am_ staying."

Being perfectly fine was doubtful to Dean, he had never seen someone lose their lunch–dinner, nothing, whatever–so quickly upon seeing someone, least of all Castiel, who had seen some shit in the past. But, his mother was in the hospital, what the hell type of person would he be to deny him? He hated hospitals, hated it more seeing Naomi here, too familiar, it struck too close to home and he would stay if Castiel wanted.

"Okay. Yeah, we can stay. I'll go look for some better chairs."

Azures never left his mother as he approached her and an equally blue pair never left him as he did so and took her hand. Jimmy had been sleeping off a business trip when he received the call and he thinks that the shock of it all, of what he was told, of needing to call his brother and tell him all of this, everything had simply sucked away his ability to cry. Not entirely, he had cried upon hearing the news and more as he had to call Castiel to tell him, then when he saw their mother, but not as much as he could.

Not as much as he wanted to.

On the other hand, Castiel seems to have done so just fine, his eyes were bloodshot and he looked like he was in a bad state. Mentioning that was not going to do any good, so he simply went to take her free hand carefully, mindful of the IV and oximeter and held out the other to his brother. For a moment, he honestly thought that he was not going to take his hand, the way he looked at it, recollection sparking in his eyes then suspicion. Eventually he did and he even looked at him to give a nod, which was about as much acknowledgement this whole thing was going to get.

That was alright, he could have enough faith for them.

By the third day, Dean was running out of options to get Castiel actually doing something other than sitting there in the hospital or laying around the little time he was not. Jimmy was just as bad, really, with the only reason he did get up and do stuff because Amelia was there, telling him to get up, if only for the sake of their daughter because she sure as shit looked just as bad. The ATC, however, did not have a wife to tell him that or daughter to be mindful of, he had to put less effort into seeming alright. There was him, sure, long term boyfriend/partner/whatever other terms were out there, though he felt he might not be as hard on him as he could be.

Losing someone sucks, what can he say. He knew what it was like to be by the bedside of a parent–both, actually–and feel like there was nothing he could do. And, had it not been for his burning need to make Lilith pay, he probably would have been just as bad when his dad died. At least he got him to shower and eat a little, not a total loss.

Sleep was a little harder.

Castiel was refusing to sleep, saying that he needed to be awake in case anything changed and he was not leaving it up to anyone else to tell him if it did. He was stressing himself the hell out and if it was not about nine layers of inappropriate, he might say he was going to land himself in a hospital along with his mother. The man had managed to stay awake all of fifty-two hours before it got to him and Dean found him sleeping on the chair next to Naomi.

Little more difficult to find the need to pull him away then.

He had jolted awake, something leaving his mouth that the mechanic could not understand-different language, maybe? Just sleep gibberish?–and immediately looked to the monitors, relaxing in the slightest when he saw everything was still stable.

Then came the fourth day.

"Dean? Uh, can I… can I talk to you?"

Dean was currently immersed all he could be in thirteen year old Claire's story about school and how her best friend was talking about how she got the newest iPad and was poking fun at her that she did not. Kids, holy shit, if it was not a phone, it was a tablet and if not that, it was a laptop. What the hell were they going to want next, the newest version of the Apple watch? So, he might have been a little relieved to not hear about how Sandra had all these new models of possibly every Apple product there was and turn his attention to Jimmy, who moved them out of an earshot.

The other looked anxious. And very, very worried and disheartened, also like he had been crying and done nothing more than splash water on his face in the hopes that he would look fine, and it was kind of instinct for big brother mode to switch on. In the last five years, he liked to think they were on far more agreeable terms, even good terms. He still shot out snarky remarks and rolled his eyes at him, but not due to some dislike of him and he had given his blessing of their relationship. At least, he thinks he did, he was sort of weird sometimes, in a good way, though it made his intentions a little ambiguous here and there.

"Did the doc tell you something?"

Licking his lips, Jimmy shifted his weight from one foot to another, glancing at Claire, then the room, then Dean and repeated the process a few times before gathering the courage to speak.

"She's not getting better."

"Well, she's stable, isn't she? That's good. Not as great as getting better-"

"No, you don't understand, Dean," and if he could, he would not understand either, he would give anything not to understand, to pretend this was not happening and maybe if he did it long enough, it would stop being true, his mother would still be up and about, "She's _not getting better."_

Stressing the words hit the mark and Dean's face fell as he realised it, mouth working and managing one tiny, "Fuck." Were Jimmy one to swear more often, he might have said the same thing when he was told. As he was not, when the doctor told him, all he did was stand there, eyebrows knitting together and saying the first thing that came to mind.

"Doctors help people."

Kind of the main requirement to be a doctor.

The doctor was saying something and this one little phrase kept running through his mind.

Doctors help people, doctors help people, doctors help people.

Doctors _help people._

"Help my mother. You're a doctor."

Stellar logic there, like the badge he had in his unnecessarily posh little lanyard did not say MD and it was some big mystery that he was.

"Mr. Novak, we've done all we can."

"Then find something new to do."

Reasonably, doing all they can should tell him that was really all they could do, there was not going to be some new procedure all of a sudden that could take this all away, that could make everything good as new. And he knew that, somewhere in his brain, but this panic of "oh God, no, my mother is _dying"_ prevented it from being known and he started shouting at the doctor. Getting angry was easy for him, laughably easy, he was told more than once he had a short temper and should work on it, but it was far easier, this anger, than dealing with the suffocating reality of this.

Anger was fleeting, though, and everything else was not and now he stood before Dean, telling him this news. And he felt like a damn coward and an utter ass, in a way, because he was telling Dean first and he knew that the man had lost both his parents so in his stupidly irrational state he thought it made him he perfect person to tell Castiel. How his brother would react would be very, very ugly, he knew that right off the bat. And he could handle it, he could, he could take the accusations and he could hold him down if necessary, even if Castiel would fight dirty, he could do it all.

He just… did not want to be the one to do it.

Because he was scared, because he was too freaking sad to muster up the strength, because whatever it was, he did not want to and he was pushing the duty onto Dean. The man did not deserve that, he was a good man, he had seen in the last few years, and he was repaying him for everything by doing this to him.

It made him even more miserable and he did not think that possible at this stage.

Dean must have sensed this or seen it in his face, whichever it was still had him clapping a hand in his shoulder, cracking a small smile for his sake.

"Hey. It's okay, I can tell him. You got enough to deal with telling Amelia and Claire."

Amelia was currently with Claire, sitting in the chairs available outside the room and he sighed.

"Yeah… and, you know…"

"No problem. Just… take them to get some grub, take a walk, something."

They had not eaten since Claire got here from school and it was probably better that they did leave. Not that Amelia did not know how Castiel could get, though Claire did not know as much and he would rather keep it that way for now, he did not want her to be under the impression her uncle was always like this or this to be the last memory she had of all of them together before… well, before. Jimmy would tell her everything, in time, when she was old enough to grasp more concepts, like what had really happened five years ago. She remembered when they had a sudden trip to Kansas and she met nice people that her uncle was good friends with today, but not really much else and that was better than the alternative, as the alternative to getting food was better than staying and her being frightened by how Castiel might get.

Yes, it was much better because the ATC, as expected, had not reacted well at all.

"Then they're all fucking deadbeats! Fuck them! Fuck this hospital! They can shove their stupidity up their ass!"

"Whoa, whoa, easy, Cas," Dean had to stand between him and the door, hands up in case he did try to make his way around him, "I know. I get it, alright? I had to do this twice and it sucks. It's more than that. And I know you're angry and more than that, you're terrified out of your damn mind. But wailing on a doctor isn't going to help, it's only going to get you kicked out and this is one time you can't afford to have that happen. I'm not asking you to do anything more than what your mother would want and that's being by her side through this."

Dean was being level-headed, his logic was sound, these were all things that were obvious so why did Castiel still want to smack his face into the doorjamb and make his way to that fucking idiot of a doctor who was saying there was "nothing more he could do." Emotional, most likely, and Castiel never really liked when he was excessively so. Maybe it was his lack of going through them properly at the right age so he never knew how to get a handle on them or his "maladaptive coping skills," like Missouri told him he had–not really something he argued, he did hide behind drugs and sex for near seven years–though the fact was that emotions could be weird to him, they overwhelmed him or he had trouble putting a word to what he was feeling or worse, he ended up losing himself in them and did stupid things as a result every so often.

Not to get him wrong, emotions were great, they were, they helped out with a lot of things in the same way they screwed up a lot of things.

Like, he could not stop crying and at the most unfortunate times, too. He had called Gadreel to ask him if he could let work know he was not going to be going in for awhile, it was a family emergency and about half way, he started blubbering like a moron and could not, for the life of him, get through a damn fucking sentence. Gadreel, being the kind of guy he was, had calmly and gently intervened, saying he would and if their boss protested one syllable about rescheduling or anything else, Abner and he would take all his shifts, all he asked was Castiel take care of himself and his family in this time.

Family was a tough topic for Gadreel, having no living family to his knowledge that would even consider speaking to him, so Castiel had promised he would.

Great job he was doing.

So, he was a little tired of crying and being emotional. This in mind, he attempted to calm down, taking deep breaths and slowly letting them out, thinking about his mother and what she would want.

_You and your brother are my angels, Castiel. I'll love you always._

_You're an angel, you'll always rise above any tribulations you face. Always remember that._

_Always, Castiel, pray and I'll be there. I'll hear you and I'll be with you._

And he started crying again because mother had always been there, even when he was stupid on drugs and acted like the worst son, even when he fucked everyone in sight for money or because they were a warm body around when he had tons of energy or broke curfew or never washed the damn dishes, she never thought him any less of her angel and fuck, he should have spent more time with her, he should have visited more, he just should have done more.

He should have done more and now he could not, he could do nothing but sob into Dean's shoulder and he was never one to pray, he was not devout like Jimmy or his mother, he never was. But he did pray, he would always pray. Just not to God, though. He listened to his mother and he prayed to her. If God could not hear his prayers, but mother said she could, he would much rather believe her, no matter how impossible it sounded because it was what she would want, she would want him to do this so she could hear him.

He prayed every day and what good was it, Dean wondered, when it seemed like he was lost to them anyway on the sixth day?

The mechanic knew that Naomi did not have much time left, that it was only a matter of time now since the equipment could only do so much. And he had not slept in awhile, neither had Castiel. Hell, he doubt Jimmy and his family had, none of them had a good night's sleep. Castiel was sitting in the chair he had commandeered for himself from the start, tapping away at his iPhone.

"Keeping up with Gadreel?"

Might as well keep up some semblance of normalcy.

"Yes. Abner and he have been alternating between my shifts."

And that was it for normalcy because three hours later, it was all over.

Three hours later, all that there was that Dean could process was the struggling man he had his arms wrapped around that was screaming like mad as he dragged him out of the room to make way for the nurses.

"Let me go! Dean, no! I need-I need to be there! _**Mother!**_ I _need_ to be there!"

His cries were anguished, high with fear and trembling, the mechanic had to close his eyes once they were in the clear and he kept trying to get free, tears stinging the corners of them at how much his boyfriend was suffering, how he was falling apart in his arms and there was nothing he could do but repeat, "I'm sorry, Cas. I'm so sorry, I'm sorry. I can't. I'm sorry."

Panicked azures stayed on the window that was his only source of still seeing her, sucking in half breaths and eyes burning from how he refused to blink, he refused, his mother would show them, she was strong, she was always so strong, he had to see it himself and he would shove it in their faces, he would, she would, too, because that was just the type of woman mother was, always proving everyone wrong. Proving them wrong on how she could, in fact, raise the twins well and work two jobs despite having been a teenage mother and being abandoned when they were only seven, how she could climb her way to the top in her job regardless of her age, she would always prove them wrong.

There was so much noise in the hospital, people talking, monitors beeping, pumps hissing, shuffling of clothes, footsteps, plenty of things and none of it mattered, none of it was heard the second he saw the monitor flatline. One second passed. Then two. Then three. And four and five and six and it did not change, it remained like that. No sudden spike to show it was just a fluke, no more anything. Just flat and all at zero and all the noise meant nothing because all he could hear in his head was that flatline, droning on and on and on and on–

-and then it was turned off, just like that, and the droning in his head became too much, screeching feedback that was going to shatter his mind, it felt like it was going to explode out of his body, the body that had gone limp in Dean's arms, eyes wide and unblinking, taking in this scene, the body that was too tiny, too insignificant for all this, the one that felt something bubbling up, climbing up his throat, up, up, up.

It was the most agonised wail Dean had heard in his thirty-seven years of life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I killed their mother with little interaction between them all written out and such. There will be parts where she shows up again and it'll be explained, why Castiel is so attached to her and everything. A lot will be explained, I'd say, I'll try my best to explain it all.
> 
> And, it's a little different of a characterisation than I usually give Naomi, to be honest, a teenage mother that supported her kids on her own since they were seven. The last time she was a character I wrote out, she was a successful businesswoman who was worth millions or more, though she still was the same where it mattered, the love for her children. But, I like writing her this way, despite how she may have seemed initially on the show. I feel she didn't have enough screen time and that was such a shame, she could have been a really amazing character. So, I write her in when I can to try and make myself feel better. I don't kill her off all the time though, this is the first time I do and it still makes me sad;;
> 
> Was it sad? I showed it to my girlfriend and she said it was very sad, so I guess it is. Hopefully it wasn't too sad.
> 
> And I hope you have a wonderful day!


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past affects the future, that is common logic. Cause leads to effect, one variable affects another, and life is full of so many variables, sometimes it is hard to know what causes what. But, that is not always the case and this might be one of those times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a sad chapter in a slightly different way. It's not horrendously explicit, purposely so, but there are depictions of child abuse, I'd say more psychological than physical. Not that it makes it any better, not at all. 
> 
> I wrote this with many intentions and one reason is that it's sort of a way of venting and coping with the past, writing has always helped me with that. Another is because it's sometimes too much for me, to see little kids come in and hear their stories and realise that they've been suffering and never received any help or care or love and I wish I could take them in and give them what I would have liked, but I can't. Writing is the best way I can handle it, even if I don't believe my writing is the best and I really hope this doesn't upset anyone.
> 
> Feel free to leave comments if you'd like.
> 
> Enjoy.

Castiel liked toys. He liked Hot Wheels and trucks and Legos and playing with the bouncy balls from the machines that went everywhere. He also liked Barbies and her doll house and tea parties where he got to wear the rainbow tutu. He liked all toys-short toys, tall toys, big toys, small toys, they were fun and there so he could play with them. No reason, in his four and a half year old mind, to leave any toy unplayed with. Jimmy also liked to play with toys and they always played together when at home and at school, when starting preschool and now in kindergarten and Castiel was very, very happy about it.

Sir was not.

The boy did not know sir's name, never heard mother say it before. Mother was Naomi, he heard her name before, when sir would use it or mother had friends over. But he knew sir lived with them, in this apartment with his brother and mother and him, he picked them up from school because mother worked a lot, he ate with them and he always, always, always had them pray before they ate, before they went to bed, it felt like all the time to him. Praying was weird, God was not there with them, how could he hear them? He made the mistake of asking once because Jimmy and he wanted to know and got a very long talking to and sir got mad when he kept asking why and told him to go for a time out, took him to a closet and called it the time out closet, which he never had to go in before or knew existed for time outs, it was the closet with extra stuff in it and he was a very good boy. There were lots of blankets and towels in there, he started to get really hot and started crying, losing control of his arms and hands, waving and flapping when it felt too long and he was all alone, he was not used to it, he was always with his brother.

Jimmy found him eventually and let him out, asking him how he got in there, but Castiel was scared and never told him what happened, he did not want sir angry again. He ended up doing it anyway, by accident, when sir came to pick them up and he was wearing the rainbow tutu over his pants, Jimmy was wearing the sailor outfit. Sir is not look happy when he told him to take that thing off and get his stuff. Thinking he was helping, the boy had stayed with a proud smile, "It's a tutu, sir," because he knew what it was called and maybe sir did not, maybe he never saw a tutu, and Castiel could help, he was a very good boy. His brother had already put his outfit away in the play box when sir grabbed him by the arm and yanked him to the box.

"I said, put that _thing_ away. You _don't_ play with that."

The angry words and face made him want to cry and he had never been grabbed like this before, it was not soft like mother, but he did not want to cry at school, so he sucked it in and managed until they got home, with sir asking in his not nice tone, "Why were you wearing that? Do you want people to think you're a girl?" He did not like the not nice tone sir had used so much lately and started crying as he answered, hiccuping and rubbing his nose, hands slapping each other over and over, biting his lip to try and stay quiet.

"I-I like toys, s-sir."

And the tutu was a toy to play pretend with, the many colours were fun, the feel was nice, it was a toy.

"It's a girl toy, Castiel. _You're not a girl."_

Castiel was pretty sure he was Castiel. Mother always said he was special, his brother, too, that Jimmy and he were her angels, he believed her. Mother never lied. She was always very, very busy, she worked a lot, so he saw sir more, but he liked mother a lot more and believed her. And mother was a girl. Or, she was, before. Now she was a lady. A good, lovable, respectable lady. He learnt what respectable was from his teacher when he wanted to write about who he looked up to and could not find words to fit. She was a girl once, so it made sense to say, "But girls are nice."

If girls were like mother, then girls were nice.

Sir was very, very mad now and grabbed his wrist. Castiel was told by mother to always be respectful, which meant being nice, especially to adults. Though, he knew where he was going, to the time out closet and was scared, struggling to get his wrist free, trying to keep his voice down because Jimmy was in their room, he was safe from sir's anger there. Jimmy also liked to play with the tutu, sir would be angry with him, too, if he knew. Still, it did not stop him from squeaking out, "I'm sorry, sir! Please, I'm sorry! I don't want to go in there!"

Sir never listened to him and he went back into the time out closet either way. And Castiel tried so hard not to make a peep, thinking of he was quiet, he might get out sooner. The heat and darkness and loneliness eventually won out and he started wailing, little fists pounding at the door and saying he was sorry, he would not wear it anymore–he probably still would, just not when sir was around–and please let him out. He was expecting Jimmy to open the door again and instead saw that mother did this time, not sparing a second in latching onto her, still crying, and begging her not to be angry at him, too, he would stop playing with the tutu.

Naomi was at a loss for all of three beats before kneeling in front of her son, holding him close and shushing him as she rubbed his back, telling him, "You can play with whatever toys you want, angel. You just remember to share." Once he had calmed down, sniffling and rubbing at his nose, he was staring at his feet, rocking back and forth and mumbling.

"But sir says it's a girl toy and that I can't play with girl toys."

Brow arching, she picked up him up, supporting him and having their noses touch, "You can play with whatever toys you want. Toys are toys. And if he says anything, then I'll make him walk around in nothing but a tutu, okay?" That made the boy giggle and nod, which she took as a sign to start walking down the small hallway, "Now, let's go see your brother, he must miss you."

When she opened the door, it would have taken her being absolutely clueless and blind to see the change in Castiel, how he tensed up in her arms and his smile disappeared, hands tightening their grip. He was sitting cross legged in front of Jimmy, playing with the Hot Wheels on the track. When Jimmy saw them both, he grinned and scrambled up.

"Mother! Cas! Where were you? I was waiting forever!"

The mother smiled and set Castiel down, watching the other grab his hand and tug him over, he gave some resistance at first, though went along with his brother eventually. When they had their backs turned, she glared at the man who was standing up.

"We need to talk. Now."

And they left the room, Castiel watched as he zoomed the car around, getting distracted when Jimmy crashed into his car and it slipped his mind, focusing on playing. When they were sitting at their little plastic yellow table, colouring, it came back and he had to tell Jimmy.

"Jimmy."

"Yeah?"

"You can't tell sir about playing with the tutu."

"Why?"

Jimmy had stopped colouring, watching his brother scribble really hard, he was going to break their crayons if he kept doing that and he was normally the one who was careful with them, mother said they could not buy more, that was why she bought them the one with lots and the sharpener in the back.

"Because it makes him mad."

"Why?"

"Because he's _dumb."_

The little boy gasped at that, it was a mean thing to say and the teacher and mother said they were not supposed to say anything like that, it could hurt people's feelings. Castiel did not seem to feel bad about it, putting away the crayon and grabbing another, looking at him real quick before looking back at his colouring book.

"He's dumb, Jimmy. And he says dumb things and we're not going to share the tutu with him."

Big blue eyes stared at his brother, lips pressed together then he looked at the door then back at him colouring, thinking. His brother was really smart, he got all the questions right at school.

"Okay. He's that. And we won't share the tutu with him."

Castiel stopped colouring and held out his crayon with a smile, the other taking it. Now, he would not have to go to the time out closet either, sir would never know, it could be their secret.

He did not see sir for a few weeks after that.

And that happened a lot, actually, sir would leave and mother would have to pick them up or one of mother's friends.

Castiel was happy about that. Sir would always say mean things and he would end up crying and it was always, "Don't cry, Castiel. Boys don't cry." Or it was a stern look that was just screaming to go back into the closet–he did a few times, when mother was not around and he would scream whenever he did, arms and hands always doing the same thing because it helped, took things away, made it easier–or harsh words about how he was not good, he should be better, stop overreacting, he made him ashamed, why not be like Jimmy, he was a good boy, he listened.

Sometimes, sir would grab his arm or wrist too hard when he was scolding him or when he tried to walk away or he would not stop moving when he was saying mean things even when he told him it helped, he was told to do some of these things when it was bad, like walking away. And he wore long shirts to hide where he grabbed him, he cried because they hurt when he was alone, but he also knew what made sir angry and would also know what to tell Jimmy not to say or do around him. This hurt him, he did not want his brother to hurt, too.

Jimmy got along with sir, he saw that, and sir was not a good person, not to him, but he was with Jimmy, he was not mean and Castiel was proud that he did that, he made it happen. As they grew up, he never got any closer to sir, he got further and further away.

When sir was teaching Jimmy how to tie his shoes at age five, Castiel was staring at other adults doing it then at his own shoes, untucking the loose laces and trying to copy them, getting it down after he did it over and over again. When sir would be heating up meals for Jimmy, Castiel would have done it for himself a little earlier, using his little chair to reach the microwave and pushing the quick cook button three times and if it was ever too hot, he would wait until it cooled down and press it twice next time. Castiel would push himself on the swings or put on his own seatbelt or tuck himself into bed after putting on his pyjamas and pretend to sleep when he heard sir tell Jimmy good night and what a good boy he was.

Jimmy was a good boy, he agreed, but Jimmy did not know that sir was not a good man.

Mother must have seen that, or else why would she send him away all the time? He heard them argue sometimes, when they were supposed to be asleep, and sir would go away when they were very loud. Castiel knew, too, so he spent a lot of time with his brother, he kept sir away all he could without sir asking questions, he taught him things he learnt before sir could, as much as his six year old mind could hold.

"Cas?"

"Yeah?"

The boy heard some shuffling then a soft thump when his feet hit the floor, already shifting in his bed to make room for his brother and letting him get comfy under the covers.

"Why do you call him sir?"

The more he noticed it, the more it bother Jimmy.

"Because."

Because?

"But you call mother mother."

"Because she's mother."

"And he's our father."

Castiel wanted to say no, that fathers were supposed to be nice to all their kids, that fathers were not supposed to hurt any of their children, fathers were good, fathers were fathers and not like sir.

But that would make Jimmy wonder and ask him, he would not leave him alone until he told him and his brother never knew when to be quiet sometimes–most times–and would have really bad fits of anger, thrashing and screaming and he would say sorry after, that he wanted to stop but could not, he needed to hit his head and flail his arms and kick or else it would stay and he did not like that, he wanted it out and to leave him alone, to be calm. But if he did, then sir might be angry at him and he worked so hard not to have him be angry at his brother.

So he shrugged.

"I like calling him sir."

To get off the topic, Castiel brought up his hands and wiggled his fingers, grinning when he copied him, along with opening and closing his hands and he knew his brother knew what he was planning, he did the happy hands.

"Want to play again?"

"Yeah!"

"Nine times one is…"

His brother reached out to bring down one of his fingers.

"Nine!"

"Nine times two is…"

Castiel was very proud of how he figured this out himself after seeing the older kids in daycare playing, not that he knew the other multiples between five to nine, but he was learning and he liked to think he was very smart for his age. No one ever told him he was, no one besides mother and Jimmy. His teachers always told him not to skip ahead, that was bad, not following the rules, and a few times when he tried to help others in his class, the teacher got mad and told him to go flip his card from blue to green, which meant he was bad.

He was only trying to help.

It was always that way. Always, always, always. He would try and help and someone would tell him no, that he was being bad and to behave, to "be a good little boy, like your brother," and Castiel did not understand why they would say that. Mother said they were both special, they were both good. Or the teachers would tell him not to play with certain things because they were for the girls and other boys laughed at him when he would play hopscotch or do cartwheels with the girls because they liked him and he liked them, they were nice.

None of this made sense to him and whenever he would tell Jimmy, he would tell them they were dumb–he finally got him to use that word–and not to listen, Mrs. Wright said not to listen when people were bullies, that was what Jimmy did. Of course, Castiel would toss rocks at them, hidden behind a tree or the slide or more obviously, shout and wave his arms or hands to get their attention, but he still did not listen.

Castiel tried that, he really did. He tried not to listen and he tried to use his words, he did everything he was supposed to, all the while keeping sir away from Jimmy and hiding nasty marks from when he would hold him too tight from mother and everyone else and whenever he had to write about his family or how he was, he would say his brother and mother were good and he was happy.

That stayed until he was about seven years old.

Mother was still always busy and he had to wonder what sir did for a job. When he asked mother one day, she said he did not work, he went to school, like he did, so he could have a good job and make money so they could live comfortably. It made sense why sir always had so many books and why he was able to pick them up and be with them when mother was working. She worked two jobs, she told him, so they could have food and a place to sleep and so when Jimmy and he were older, they could keep going to school. They would go to a nice school and do what sir was doing, something called a thesis, which was for a Master's degree and that would give them chances for a good job.

It sounded fancy, so he promised he would one day have a good job and she would not have to worry about money anymore because she was his mother and he loved her and wanted her happy and comfortable.

That also meant trying to get along with sir. Because if this thesis got him a good job, mother would not work so much and they would have more money and be comfortable. He attempted to do more things around the apartment, he fixed the pillows and cushions of the couch, he put things where they belonged, he paid extra close attention in class and what the big kids said so he could help Jimmy if he was stuck on homework, he did everything his little self could do.

This included heating up their food to eat.

They were eating a little late tonight because mother was coming home from work earlier than usual and they could all eat together. It made him happy, very happy, and he scooted his little chair next to the counter so he could hop on and put the first plate in. Then the second. Then the third. The fourth plate was when sir came in, saw what he was doing, and gave that disappointed sigh.

"You're not doing it right, Castiel. You need to cover it up."

"I did, sir. It's over there."

And there was a napkin where he pointed, he used it because once mother walked in on him and told him a napkin should be used so food did not splatter everywhere. Not agreeable with sir, he shook his head and started walking over, telling him, "It's still _wrong._ You shouldn't do things you know nothing about, _this is why you fail."_ Castiel flinched at the words, wanting to stop what he was doing and go away, but this was mother's plate, she taught him how.

"I can do this, sir. I'm not… I'm not failing."

Use his words, that was how he was to deal with this.

Sir used his hands, grabbing the plate and trying to pull it back. No, this was mother's plate and he could do it, she taught him, he was good at this.

"Let go, Castiel."

"No. I can do it!"

"I said let go!"

A strong tug and he lost balance on his chair, flying forward and he heard a noise, squishy, and when he peeked, the food was on sir's shirt. Horrified at the loss of the food and the very clear anger in his eyes, the boy started, "I'm sorry, sir! I'm really sorry, I can-"

"You stupid boy!"

Castiel had tripped and skin his knee before, bumped his elbow on a corner, rubbed his eyes and only made them burn because of sand, the average thing one might expect of a seven year old boy. None of that came close to the feeling of something cold and hard smacking him across the face or biting his tongue or falling over because of all that. It took him awhile to realise that the plate was what hit him, still held in sir's hand, there were pieces of lettuce in his hair and sauce on his face and sir hit him with the plate.

Sir hit him with a plate.

It hurt, a lot, and sir was saying stuff, calling him worthless and bad and stuff and Castiel was staring at him, wide eyed, because he _hit him with the plate._

"Shut up."

Surprised that he even did, he was even more surprised when he wobbled up to his feet, even with that nasty glare and hissed, _"What did you say to me?"_ Because hitting like that was wrong, sir was wrong, he was not wrong, sir was, hitting was hurtful and not supposed to be done, they were supposed to use words and be nice and not supposed to hit. Hitting was angry, angry was bad, mother taught him not to stand for hitting and help those who were hit and hurt and if he told no one before, then he could help himself.

"Shut up. You're _mean._ You're _stupid._ You're just pretend nice so everyone thinks you're not bad! But you're bad, you're very bad, you're not good! You say I'm not a good boy, but you're even  _more bad!_ So shut up! Shut up, _shut up, shut up, shut-!"_

There was another hit with the plate and this time he did cry out, it hurt his head and it felt sharp and all he could do was lift up his hands so maybe he would not hit his face or head again.

"What are you _doing?!"_

Picked up and knowing it was mother, Castiel started crying openly because it hurt, it hurt so much and his mouth tasted weird, his tongue hurt, everything hurt.

_"Get out!"_

"It's-"

"I don't care what you have to say! Get out this instant! Come back again, I'll call the police."

"Naomi-"

"I said _**get the hell out!"**_

The last he saw of sir was outside their apartment door, shirt covered with food and looking the most angry he ever saw and mother did not let him say anything before shutting the door.

"Mother… are we eating yet?"

Jimmy had padded on out of their room, the movie was over and dinner was supposed to be before the movie was done and he heard mother, even with the door closed, now that the loud movie was over so maybe she was calling them for dinner, she always did when she was there to have dinner with them, he liked when she did. Except, dinner seemed to be on his brother and he was crying, that made him worry.

"Why're you crying, Cas? Crying is sad! Are you sad? Why?"

Their mother patted his head and steered him along, trying to get Castiel to stop crying along the way.

"Jimmy, honey, can you get him a new shirt? Once we're all cleaned up, we'll eat."

He did not want to leave when he was still crying and thought maybe a clean shirt would help, so with an "Okay," he went to their room. Naomi had already begun to pick out the lettuce and wipe his face and Castiel did feel ashamed now because he was supposed to do it on his own, not cry, and he kept squirming when she tried to get his shirt off.

"Castiel, darling, we need to change your shirt."

"… I'm okay."

"It's dirty. Please, we can't have it stained."

Mother said to listen when asked please, it was polite, and he ended up fiddling with the end of his shirt before removing it and holding it out, eyes downcast as he heard mother gasp. The marks were not so bad, he thought, some were only slightly noticeable, yellow and spotted with green, they did not hurt as much. Others could be seen more, like where sir had grabbed his wrists when he was being "unreasonable" and would not stop flapping his hands or moving his arms when he was trying to tell him no, he did not like that and sir said to stop acting so mentally challenged, whatever that meant. That taught him to tell Jimmy not to do that or nod so much as he hit his hands on his thighs or do the thing with his hands either, even the happy hands, because sir did not like it. He thought it was normal, other kids did stuff, too, like not sit still or tap away.

"Sorry."

"Oh, angel… why are you sorry?"

"I wasn't supposed to show them."

Naomi's face pinched in utter sorrow at the mumble and then Jimmy came in and she made sure to keep Castiel shielded from his view, thanking him when he handed the shirt over and asking him to wait outside. When Castiel was all cleaned up and his shirt was on, the mother squatted before him, aching feet in her heels and all, and made him look at her, seeing those big blue eyes so sad had her bringing him again for a hug, kissing the top of his head.

"You don't have to say sorry. _Never_ say sorry for this. You tell me when these things happen, okay?"

"… Okay."

"You and your brother are my angels, Castiel. I'll love you always. And I'll always protect you, I'll keep you safe. You won't ever have to see him again, he can't hurt you."

Castiel buried his face in her shoulder, chubby hands fisting her nice jacket and he believed her, mother never lied, though he still asked, "… Promise?"

"I promise. Until my last breath and beyond, I'll always protect you. Pray and I'll be there."

Mother never lied, so he nodded and then she got up, took his hand and they were out of the bathroom, Jimmy immediately clung onto him.

"Cas! You okay? You still crying? Why were you crying? Are you sad?"

It was easy to say, "I was sad I dropped the food," because he did not want to say what happened, to make him sad or mad, and mother did not say anything about him not saying the truth, maybe it was okay this time. Jimmy scrunched up his nose and took his other hand, their mother letting go when they got to the kitchen.

"I can help clean up! Then we can eat!"

"Okay."

Once they were done–Jimmy liked to say they did it themselves, but they needed help getting the napkins and lemony wipes–he noticed something.

"Where's father?"

Not facing his brother, he did not see him stiffen and look at his mother, desperately and silently pleading her not to say what happened.

"He's… busy. He won't be able to make it tonight. Or anytime soon."

That was weird, normally father said something before he left. He said he was studying or meeting with someone, an advisor, he said, sometimes it was this late or later, but he always said something. And he came back before mother was home, not leaving when she came home. They did not spend as much time together as before, he spent more time with his brother or his friends or watching movies or shows and now he was hungry.

He forgot about it.

And they ate together for many more nights, which made Jimmy happy, and he asked sometimes about father, Castiel always called him dumb and mother said he was not coming back, all that mattered was that the three of them stick together as a family.

He stopped asking about his father the summer before third grade and forgot altogether by the end of the year.

Castiel, on the other hand, had more difficulty forgetting about sir. And maybe, he never really managed it, one might say, watching him as he grew up. Hell, even he might say it, if he could admit it, if he listened to what was in his head, the voice that always whispered the negative, though not the voice of now.

_"Castiel? Hey, Cas? Cas, wake up-"_

\---

The soft gasp pulled from the man and flutter of his eyelashes as he woke up was perhaps the most alive Dean had seen Castiel in the past few days and it was immediately gone, dulled eyes moving to him before he sat up, sheets pooling at his waist and he simply sat there.

This was how he was after the hospital, never quite saying much of anything unless it was planning the funeral and retreating back to the room after. He had not eaten sufficiently, he still looked exhausted despite how often he slept and the only one who looked remotely in the same condition was Jimmy. How he was doing beyond that, Dean had no idea, he tended to Castiel and Amelia tended to Jimmy. Probably talked more, they did have rather different personalities.

Traits could be compared and contrasted later, Castiel was still sitting there, staring, and Dean sighed.

"Come on, Cas. Up. We need to get ready for the wake."

As expected, nothing was said, he merely got up and made his way to get ready. Before he did, however, he paused in front of him, waited a beat and like always, pressed a soft kiss to his lips, eyes shut and tore away haltingly, as if it was the most arduous task he had undertaken. And Dean kissed back, he would always would.

That did not stop the kisses from feeling as cold and sorrowful as they did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm going to take a small break from this story, maybe push out two chapters of Silent Film Star, this was a little hard to write, though better to let it out than keep it in. 
> 
> I'm not sure there are many notes to make about this, more will be explained later as the story goes along and I think flashbacks are going to be a big part of this story. I tried to write from the perspective of a child, simple, I'm not sure how well I did.
> 
> Have a lovely day.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When emotions are high, most people tend to cry, to scream, to laugh and so on. Castiel and Jimmy have always responded differently, though managed over the years to get them down more or less within the parameters of "normal." At least, Castiel likes to say he does, but too many emotions tend to have him making extremely destructive choices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure there are many notes to make. This is setting up for a lot more to happen, it's kind of vague and everything goes by really quick to fit how Castiel's thinking is and all.
> 
> Other than that, enjoy!

Castiel was a ticking time bomb and Dean knew it. No one went from the wreck he had to hold in the hospital to completely neutral without something having snapped inside that was just waiting to show itself. The mechanic knew him, knew how he reacted to things and this was nothing more than a delayed response, extremely delayed and the more time it took, the more it festered in him, the worse if was going to be.

Problem was, he had no idea how he might bring that up, more so with being at the wake. These things always made him uneasy and hearing people give their condolences felt… unreal. Not like in the fake sense, just made the death more concrete yet managed to make it less so, like the person was going to come back somehow.

Castiel and Jimmy were standing beside each other and besides the streak of blue in the ATC's hair, they looked exactly the same. He had removed all his facial piercings–even the eyebrow piercings he got two years ago in a moment of spontaneity–and his hair was combed down neatly. It should be odd, seeing him this way, but he could not bring himself to think that as he watched people approach the twins and shake their hands, offering their condolences for the loss of their mother.

Jimmy looked awful, he had bags under his eyes and looked much older than he was as he tried to smile in appreciation for everyone's kind words, something probably that came from trying to get this organised as soon as possible. Partly because the twins had decided it was better this way, since if they both had been given time off from work, they would rather not have the funeral hanging over their heads to plan.

Maybe it was standing beside his brother that made Castiel seem not so bad off, like those kind of optical illusions. He was not smiling, not even trying, only talking with others as he shook their hands and Dean was about to head over, stopping as a hand grabbed his bicep.

"Dean."

Amelia was standing there with him now, she looked pretty worn and did a good job making herself up to cover that up, Claire was off with some family friend. Pure instinct had him hugging her, rubbing her back and they were all suffering, terribly so, the least he could do was be strong for them in this time.

"Amelia. How have Jimmy and Claire been?"

"They're… doing as well as they can be."

"And you?"

"Being there for them, mostly. Jimmy's taking this so hard, his mother was all he had growing up besides Castiel."

Castiel has talked about that before, that it was only the three of them and Dean had once asked about his dad, wondering if he had died or left or something. That had caused him to stop what he was doing at the time, suddenly starting to tap his hands at his side and when he noticed, he clenched them into fists, stating, "I never had one." And he never asked again, figuring it was a sore spot, never having known his dad.

"What about you? And Castiel?"

"I'm… good, as much as I can be. Cas is," there were a lot of things Castiel was and saying, "Coping," was the farthest thing from the truth. She did not need anything more weighing on her, however, so it was to protect her, that was all. And she looked relieved, leading him to think he made the right choice.

"And… do you have them, what we talked about?"

Regardless of being a few states apart for most of the time that they knew each other and their meeting kind of being rushed because of their need to get out of the state, Amelia and he got along really well. She was a strong woman and dedicated to her family, all it took was her knowing Castiel's opinion on him to give him a chance and he was grateful that she did, she was a fantastic lady that he had the honour of calling family.

When Jimmy and Castiel had been planning, Amelia had pulled him aside and let him know her idea, asked what he thought. It was lovely, he let her know, and they would appreciate it and what did he have to do. The drive was long and it took about an hour on the phone with her and sending her pictures before the eventually settled on something. He had been carrying them around all this time and now was as good a time as any to pull them out, both in their respective boxes to hand over.

"The stuff that came with it is back at your house, I might have asked Claire to keep it in her room, I didn't want them to find out."

The female took the velvet boxes and popped one open, smiling softly then closing it and putting them in her purse.

Perfect.

They would love these.

"Thank you."

"No problem at all, I wouldn't have thought of it myself, so thank you. You going to be okay on your own?"

"Yes, I'll be fine. Go."

Nodding, he made his way over to Castiel, who had, by this point, run out of people to talk to and was standing there with his brother, listening to him talk. Something he noticed that had been happening lately was that more often than not, he started up with these tics whenever he was talking with his brother. Usually, he started tapping his hands at his sides until his brother caught on and pointed it out.

"… never been this bad, Castiel. Are you sure?"

Well, whatever they were talking about seemed serious, Castiel merely stared at him and the monotone may as well have answered his question.

"It shouldn't have been her, brother. That's… it. Shouldn't have been her."

"It wouldn't have been any better if it was you or me."

"I never said either of us either, I wouldn't wish that on this family."

Tapping again and anything Jimmy might have said was cut off when Castiel faced him.

"Hello, Dean. Excuse me."

And he brushed right by him, leaving the two alone. Dean blinked at the abrupt departure and looked back at the other when he sighed.

"Dude, you need a break. Go have a quick nap or something, Amelia and I can handle this."

"I can't. Not yet. Too much to do, too much on my mind, just too much."

Jimmy had this odd tic, too, his fingers kept wiggling and he was swinging his arms subtly. In all their time together when he was on the run, he never quite saw this. He ran his hand through his hair or would fiddle with his wedding band a lot, not this.

"Hey, you alright? Honestly. Because, not to be a dick, but you and Cas haven't really been firing on all cylinders lately and your bodies sure are giving that away."

The other looked down and crossed his arms after not being able to stop it and shook his head.

"I'm fine. They're normal, been doing it since we were kids, they help. I'm as alright as can be. You just take care of Cas, he's the one you should be looking out for."

Fucking hell, this whole family, they were dedicated to each other to an insane degree, fuck what they were going through. Not that he was any better, though it was still a bitch of a thing to be on the receiving end, he might have understood Sam's frustrations a little more now.

What did Jimmy mean with that, he had to wonder, that they helped?

Seemed a little bothersome, more than anything, uncontrolled and subconsciously done, it exposed them, Dean would feel uneasy with that known to everyone if he were in their shoes. Doubtful anyone would use that against them, especially now and no less of a vulnerability. At least it helped him try and pick apart what Castiel was doing. It helped, okay, so maybe he was dealing in a slightly different way, to some extent.

Where did he go, anyway?

Not anywhere here and Dean had to wander and ask around, pointed out and there he was, outside the funeral home with a cigarette in hand and that was new to see.

"Pretty early to be smoking, Cas."

"Five o'clock somewhere."

Hands in his pockets, Dean leant against the wall next to the man, scrunching his nose at the smell of the smoke and hell, this might be the closest to normal he was going to get, he would take it.

"How long's it been since your last smoke?"

"Twenty years."

Doing the math as he held out his hand, he took the offered cigarette–120's and the filter band said Eve-and leant in for a light, "You were sixteen when you quit?"

"Yes. Started about the same time I started using, mother found out and begged me to quit. Fucked up of me to replace one fatal habit with an even worse one then fall back into both."

"You did what you had to back then."

"And now?"

"We all have our ways of dealing."

As soon as the smoke went in, the minty nicotine had him coughing twice at the foreign sensation and trying to blow it all out.

"Is this your first time?"

"No. Soon as I was eighteen, I went to buy some. Tried them out, didn't like them much."

"Yet you're here, smoking with me."

"Just because we all deal differently doesn't mean I'm going to let you go it alone."

The ATC took a long drag from his cigarette, holding it in until it started to burn his nose and released it slowly, "Sometimes, it's safer to leave someone alone to deal, for those close to them," and maybe, Dean thought, this was not one of those times because he took his hand and they were out the rest of the wake.

Dean could handle the cigarettes for the small glimpse of Castiel's recovery.

If only it lasted.

\---

"Cas, hurry up!"

"Jesus Christ, patience, Jimmy!"

"It's been a freaking hour, you said you'd be quick!"

Castiel flicked on the hairdryer to drown him out, grinning at the pounding on the door and turning it off. Once unplugged, he looked the bathroom over from the sink to the bathtub and deeming it satisfactory, opened the door to see Jimmy standing there, arms crossed and scowling.

 _"We had a schedule, Castiel._ Dying your hair can wait."

The teen shrugged and squeezed his way around him, "I didn't forget. We're still right on schedule, little brother." Getting to the kitchen of their small three bedroom house, he ignored the bouncy ball thrown at his head, heading it dribble away.

"We're twins, you assbutt."

"Yes, but I'm older."

"By twenty-one minutes."

"Still older. Now, hurry up, _we have a schedule, James."_

Jimmy huffed at the words thrown back at him, making his way to the very bottom drawers of the left side of the counter and opening it, pulling out a small wooden box whilst Castiel went to go get the stashed away watermelon they had bought on Friday when walking home and a cutting board. Now that they had everything here, the boy had to evaluate this all.

"Cas, are you sure? I mean, how often have you even done this?"

"On fruit? Once, on an apple. But plenty of times on wood, from what I can borrow from home ec and what someone I know got from woodshop. How different can it be?"

For starters, a watermelon was a lot easier to cut through and they had about three near misses of Castiel nearly slicing his entire finger open or off and a lot more cursing than Jimmy would like from his brother. In the end, he was entirely satisfied with the result and set it on the plate.

"Little off, but not too bad."

"She'll love it. Now for the rest."

This was how the Novak twins spent their late Sunday afternoon carving out a flower from a watermelon and plating it with other fruit, shoving and trading half hearted insults. Castiel would have it no other way, honestly. His… extracurricular activities often placed them in very different places and he was very, very glad they were. As he would be under the bleachers, blowing some guy for his pills, Jimmy would be in that business club he was so enthusiastic about. He would be rolling blunts, Jimmy would be tutoring.

So, yes, he liked that Jimmy was different in that respect.

What he also liked was the fact that despite the fact that all the other students–other than that little clique he procured pills from–tended to stay the fuck away from him with dyed hair and pierced septum and tongue because it was freakish of him to do, Jimmy would always come up to him in the halls and walk with him, talking with him like he was no different than before. He never cared about the stares it got him or anything, he was his brother and everyone else could shove it, he said.

Castiel really loved Jimmy, more than anything in the world.

Well, him and mother, of course.

Mother was like his foundation, really. Whenever he had a problem that Jimmy could not help him with, mother was always the one he turned to. Even now, eight years later, Jimmy had no idea what had really happened with that excuse of a human being and as much as Castiel tried not to let anything said bother him, it was harder than it sounded.

The separation between male and female was one of the things he had to deal with. Everyone was telling him no, not that, it was for girls only. He could not do this or say that and if he did, he was ridiculed endlessly and it got to the point where it was either get beat up or fight back. That never stopped the thoughts from coming, the little voice in his head that sounded too much like that jackass, calling him shameful, an abomination, a horrible person, a freak, things that more than once had him lock himself in his room, humming to himself, tapping his fingers, counting, spinning in his chair, bouncing on his bed, anything.

Mother found him once when he had enough of it, screaming and hitting his head against the wall, kicking his desk and Jimmy was scared for him, unable to unlock his door without the keys and she was the only one who could. Normally it was his brother who had trouble with controlling himself when he got this angry, it was fucking terrifying actually having that build up in him that badly for once and it only made him more protective of Jimmy in the end. But mother had come in and tried to talk to him, calm him down, help him through it and afterward, he had split everything, why he was so angry and confused, what was he, whatever came to mind.

"You're my angel, Castiel," was what she told him, "And you can have anything you want, it doesn't matter if people say it's for girls or boys, so long as you share and be kind. You can be whoever you want to be-boy, girl, anything-I'll love you the same. And so will your brother. Always."

His mother pulled him out of a lot of bad places.

However, there were a few things she could not get rid of because he never really talked about them. He was not the good twin, that much was right in his head. Jimmy was going to go places, good places, and he would do average, at best. There was still his promise, that he would work at a job that paid well, so he could make sure she lived comfortably, he would make her proud and that was why he kept going to school–save the times he ditched–regardless of how he would always be told no, that was not the interpretation they wanted for the book, just tell them the stupid fucking answer to questions that did not even scratch the surface of what the book was really was trying to say or no, that was not the way to solve the math problem and who the fuck cared if it got him the right answer with less mess, it was not the way they taught it.

Castiel was not stupid, he knew this, Jimmy and he were both in the advanced courses, their grades were more or less the same–might have been equal if he showed up–and still, he just… never wanted to do anything. Every time he did, he was wrong, it was bad, just follow the fucking rules and be better, Jimmy got it, why did he not? He was just the bratty kid with an attitude, suspended within his first month of high school because he had jumped on a football players' back and managed to get him to ram his head against the lockers awfully hard, his justification that he had been bullying Jimmy and talking helped none. He was not going to have Jimmy subjected to that and his brother was never one to resort to violence, he was never able to control himself, and he hated violence, too, honestly. Last resort, that was it, though he had inadvertently made a name for himself and had a few more suspensions and detention since then.

Of that, mother only knew part and even with what she did know, she never looked down on him, she loved him just as much, it was the only thing he could do to make it up to her, how much of a horrible failure he was, going to school to try and get a good job.

That and this plate, of course.

Standing there with his brother in the kitchen, he heard a soft noise and looked down, seeing his hands open and close, open and close and grinned, following the movements himself. Happy hands was always good and something not as common as when they were younger, since they learnt subtler ways to express certain things in public–it was that or being picked on for being freaks–so he was always glad to see it when they were alone and away from judgemental eyes.

"Jimmy? Castiel?"

Mother was here!

The two teenage boys rushed to the door, immediately greeting her with a kiss on the cheek and one took her purse for her, the other her work bag then they were taking her to the kitchen.

"What's the rush?"

"Happy Mother's Day!"

Castiel loved seeing his mother's reaction to her gift and sitting there, at their small little table, eating fruit and they all talked about their day. It was a good day, the twins did everything around the house and Jimmy went to bed at around nine, like he always did and Castiel was cleaning up in the living room when he heard a light thump come from her room. Setting down the disinfecting wipe, he made his way over.

The door was open a crack and he knocked either way, walking in and feeling his stomach drop as soon as he did.

"Mother!"

Naomi looked up from bandaging her leg, surprised at her son's presence.

"Castiel. I thought you were cleaning."

"And I thought you only hurt your back."

Castiel closed the door behind him, eyes still on her leg and the bloody bandages discarded to the side. The small box of supplies mother had was what fell over and that was hardly his concern, fingers tapping at his sides and fiddling with his tongue piercing at the sight.

"I'm sorry, angel. I just knew how you and your brother would get if you knew and I can't afford time off," she motioned him to come forward and he did, not putting much thought into how he knelt down in front of her and nudged her hands away from the bandages to wrap it himself. Carefully, it was all done, that nasty gash hidden away, talking quietly because Jimmy's room was right next to hers.

"You deserve a better job than at that factory, mother. You've worked so hard and it's not a safe place, this isn't the first time this has happened."

Straightening up, he sat with her on the bed, knowing what she might say, it was the same since he was little.

"It's a steady job, Castiel, it pays the bills. It's not like being a receptionist, yes, but one out of two isn't so bad."

An arm wrapped around him and he sighed, leaning into her.

"I'll get a work permit from school, I'll get a job, my grades are good enough, I can do it."

"You shouldn't have to work. You just keep on studying, okay?"

"And you shouldn't have to work so hard. You wouldn't be if… if _that jackass-"_

"Castiel, no. Thinking about what could be and getting angry over it isn't worth it, don't do that to yourself, please."

Except that it was worth getting angry about to him. If that douche was a proper, respectable human being, he never would have used mother to manage paying off his higher education, never would have been the slime ball of a person he was the seven years he knew him. He should have been there to support mother the right way, by managing school and work, allowing mother to do more than work herself to exhaustion, he should have simply been a fucking decent human and if anyone should have a gash on their leg or a problematic back or chronic headaches it should be him.

Mother did not deserve this, she should not have to deal with these kinds of hurt and stress, it never should be her.

It would always, in his mind, be what that man deserved, never her and if he could, he would take it from her and give it to him.

"How about you tell me about your hair, hm? Do you think the red is better than the green?"

But that was something he would keep to himself.

"It's okay, I guess. But, I was thinking about blue next time…"

Because mother did not need any more on her plate, neither did Jimmy and Castiel could keep them safe by keeping this to himself.

Maybe one day, he would not have to anymore.

\---

"Cas, we need to start getting ready."

Castiel was up and eventually he was ready and after even more time that seemed to go by in a blink of an eye, he was listening to a priest prattle on. Mother would want this, to have this kind of service, to have these words said, all of it and none of it made it right. This was not her time, this was not how it should have come to be, none of this was as it should be.

Now Jimmy was talking and all the words were heard, he even saw the moment it got to be too much for him and he stood up to make his way to him, finishing up for him and saying a few things of his own. Such things were not his concern, nothing more than a balm for everyone who hardly meant a thing to him, he said what he needed to his family and loved ones, he said what he needed to his mother.

All of this was for mother, yes, but mostly for others she knew, too. That was what these things were, right, for the people still here? He went through all the motions for mother, he shook hands, exchanged words with people he seldom saw and frowned down on him growing up for being different, he remained pleasant with everyone the time he did see anyone even if would be easier to remain sleeping all the time he was not planning.

But mother would have wanted this, so he did it.

When this was all done, however, when everyone but his family was gone and it was all wrapped up and they had gone back to Jimmy's house, he did not walk back in with them. He sat out on the curb, cigarette between his fingers, staring at nothing much in particular. Minutes ticked on by before someone sat beside him, grabbed the cancer stick and snuffed it out.

"I barely lit that, Jimmy."

"Good. Then you won't stink as much and have less toxins in you. Come inside, Amelia and Dean have something for us."

Not like he had much of a choice, Jimmy was already hauling him up and would be dragging him in if he was not going along willingly. Being in the living room right now, it was not strange though he did look at the carpet every so often, despite it being a new one now. Maybe even more so now, looking for traces of blood somehow.

Strange how things had a way of simply… vanishing like that.

"… thought you'd both like these."

Amelia was holding out something, a small velvet box, that he took and felt for a moment before popping it open. A necklace, two wings folded up into each other, looking like a heart if one really wanted to be sentimental about it and he removed it from the box, examining the intricate detail then Dean was talking.

"I, uh, I talked to the lady and she said those are seraph wings or something. Don't know much about all that, but what she said sounded good and fitting for your mother, so…"

"Thank you, Dean, Amelia."

Jimmy had more of a reaction and that was fine, he was always more in tune with his emotions, he grew up dealing with them relatively normally, he knew how to deal with them. At least all but his anger, he still lost his grip on that from time to time, everything else was fair game. On the other hand, he was not and he was stuck in a strange space, where he knew he was feeling something, a lot of something, multiple something's and they were not coming out.

They were building and building and building, making it harder to think, harder to breathe, harder to be and he had decided what he needed to do, to get them out, he had the day of the wake, all he needed to do was get through this all. And, he supposed this made it official, this necklace with a piece of his mother in it, a necklace he put on and out of all the jewellery he had, none was as valuable and important as this was.

Dean said it was silver, it would not be difficult to maintain in the condition it was, he could buy one of those polishing cloths, they had those everywhere now.

In time.

"Hey, you coming to bed?"

Azures turned to Dean from his cup of tea and he shook his head.

"In a bit."

"Alright. Good night, Cas."

"Good night, Dean."

One last good night kiss and Castiel went back to his tea, counting, tapping his fingers, humming, waiting. The house was silent, lone light in the kitchen on and he decided it was time. A note was scribbled down on the pad on the fridge, his tea was downed and he left the house quietly, lighting a cigarette as he walked down the street. One street, two streets, three streets, as many streets as he felt were needed and he wandered into a part of Pontiac he had not in five years.

The place was closed now, of course, where he came the last time around. Pontiac was not clean of drugs entirely, when one big operation went down, some other was bound to take its place. Based on what he knew, they were not as influential as Alastair, probably not as ambitious or knew when enough was enough, something he had never really concerned himself about before. They were not after his family, after anyone close to him, this group in Pontiac had never bothered them before, he had never worked for them before.

And he was not starting now, that would defeat the point of everything he did back then.

No, he was here, lighting another cigarette and walking. Only when he passed a car he liked did he stop, examine it and when at the driver's side, raised his arm and smashed the window in with his elbow.

A little dirty, but it got the job done.

Besides, he doubt the road ahead would be any less dirty.

And he was just fine with that.

\---

One of the first things Dean noticed was that Castiel had not gone to bed.

The second was that he was not in the house or around the house at all.

And, at any other point, that would not worry him. He was thirty-six, he was an adult, he could take care of himself.

Then again, there was still the comparison to being a ticking time bomb, that made him worry about his disappearance. Amelia and Jimmy were in the kitchen, the female handing him a cup of coffee he thanked her for and only when it was all gone did he ask.

"Have you guys seen Cas?"

Both of them looking at him was obviously a no.

"I thought he was still in bed with you."

"No. I thought you might've seen him when you woke up."

That was how he ended up causing a somewhat growing panic when they could not find him.

"Dean! In here."

In the kitchen, Amelia was holding a piece of paper, one torn off from the little pad on the fridge, held out to him and not much explanation because she had none to give.

_It is safer alone. I love you._

Dean did and he did not like it one bit.

What the fuck was Castiel getting himself into now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much for end notes either. 
> 
> I've never been to a funeral, so I had to look up what's done for that. Although I have been on the receiving end of teachers telling me no because it wasn't the way they taught or suspended for not following rules that were much too oppressive or standing up for someone, so I do know what that can do. 
> 
> And what Castiel is planning, maybe you can guess, clues were all throughout the chapter.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All his life, Jimmy has been able to predict his brother's moves more than anyone else. Some call it a twin thing, but whatever anyone wants to call it, that makes figuring this out no more reassuring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not really any notes to make here. Normal things, flashbacks, typos will be fixed, feel free to comment. And the next chapter of Silent Film Star should be up tomorrow. 
> 
> Enjoy!

"What the hell does this mean?"

Jimmy being so short tempered right now was understandable, all they had of Castiel was some vague as shit note and nothing else. Except, it was not helping him gather his thoughts properly and that was not helping the case at all.

"I don't know, alright? He just… he said something, at the wake, when I caught him smoking," probably best to leave out he smoked with him and did not chastise him for the bad habit, "He said sometimes it's safer for someone to deal with it alone. I didn't think he'd take off in the middle of the freaking night, I just thought… I don't know, he wouldn't talk about it or smoke for awhile."

If anything, Castiel should have learnt his lesson from the last time he left a note and ran off on his own, all it got him was trapped by that dick Alastair and snorting meth then, well, not a pretty time in Missouri once they were out of Illinois.

"And that's it? You didn't even ask what he meant? Didn't stop to think maybe he was going to do something stupid?"

His brother was out there, doing who the hell knew what, and all Dean had was that flimsy little explanation for himself? He trusted him to take care of Castiel, to make sure he was well, to be there for him in his time of need because he was too shaken up by the loss of his mother to do it all himself and this was what he got, his brother gone, again, and no doubt planning something reckless he had no idea what it could be-

"Jimmy! _Stop."_

The male blinked and saw Amelia was standing in front of him, hands on his chest to slow him down, stop him, and there was something fairly heavy in his hand. Looking down, he noted it was the empty coffee carafe that he had been standing by at the start of this conversation, held in a way that it was meant to be swung, Dean was tense and on the defensive and not much else really had to be seen to know what was happening.

"I…"

He was angry, that was it, and he had a short fuse, even shorter because of all this and he swallowed thickly, carefully handing over the carafe to his wife and backing away.

"I'm going to go now."

Not bothering to listen any longer, he might have felt embarrassed of how he ran away so quickly and locked himself in the bathroom connected to his room, hands over his ears as he squatted down and hummed quietly to himself, if he were not so frightened by what had happened. It happened from time to time, getting that angry, though he usually recognised it a little earlier and extracted himself from the situation. And nothing really helped, he did try and seek help to manage it after what happened last time, that poor boy. Not quite so innocent, granted, but it was not up to him to punish him.

Jimmy hated it, why was it so bad. Mother never had such a temper and she said her parents did not either. Castiel did not have this problem either. Yes, he had his negative traits and all, though he was capable of controlling his anger.

Why did he have this? What was wrong with him?

He thought about it, a lot, and the only reason he could think of for being like he was, for having this horrible predisposition, was that he had taken after his father. Although, that was odd and he had trouble holding to that claim when he first thought of it. In the time he was around, his father never showed signs of this, from the few memories he still had of him.

Did he actually have control over it?

Or did he hide it better?

Whispering, reciting, it trailed off after awhile and he moved to sit on the bathroom floor, thinking all the while. About his anger, about Castiel and where he could be, about plenty of things.

\---

"Brother, please, be honest with me."

The flat blue that stared back at him already told him everything he needed to know, yet he wanted an answer and between all the people coming to offer their deepest sympathies, this was the first time he could actually get a word in.

"I am. Mother… did not deserve this, someone worse did. Those who caused this deserved this."

"No one caused this, Castiel, you know that as well as I."

"Someone did. Or, many. That is fact."

The male frowned, seeing his brother's hands hitting his sides restlessly and the movement in his mouth was most assuredly his piercing.  
"In years, it's never been this bad, Castiel. Are you sure?"

Stop withdrawing again, please.

"It shouldn't have been her, brother. That's… it. Shouldn't have been her."

He could not lose his brother, too.

\---

_He's **dumb,** Jimmy._

_Mother deserves better._

_I don't have one, just another proven jackass._

_We've been better off without him, so good riddance._

_It shouldn't have been her, brother._

_I never said any of us either, I wouldn't wish that on this family._

_It is safer alone. I love you._

\---

… Oh my God.

Scrambling back up on his feet, he ran out of the bathroom and down the stairs to the living room, seeing Amelia and Dean look up, surprised at his reappearance and no time, none at all.

"I know where Castiel is going. We need to find something at mother's house first."

A name would be all he needed and the rest could come after.

\---

"… here you are, Mr. Novak."

Taking his identification back, Castiel gave a polite smile to the female before going to sit down and wait. It faded as soon as she looked away, all for show, nothing more. If there was anything he had grown skilled at with all his years of saying he was completely happy and satisfied with his life that could be used to his advantage now was acting. No one would know what he had been through, or his true intentions here, they would merely think he was here to visit a very unfortunate friend.

"Castiel Novak?"

And well, maybe once upon a time he thought that.

Then again, he was always making bad decisions.

\---

This little stick was tearing his world apart just by existing, chest tightening the longer he stared.

"I… did you… are you certain?"

"Pee stick says yes."

Fuck.

No, no, no. He was always careful, he did the same as he would with any client, he was so careful, he did everything humanly possible to prevent this.

"What… what about your period? You're supposed to have it in about a week, aren't you? This… it could be wrong."

God, anything to prove this test wrong, it was a fluke, that was it.

"Meg… Jesus Christ, I can't be a parent."

He barely turned seventeen, Meg was seventeen, he could not raise a child how he was. He used, he fucked people for money, he manipulated people to bring clients to Meg and made sure they fell into the habit of using, he was a horrible human being, how could he raise a child in that environment, being the person he was?

"I sure as hell can't be a mommy, Clarence. It's bad for business."

Bad for business?

_Bad for fucking business?_

"Fuck the business, a child shouldn't even be born into this! Fuck… fuck, fuck, _fuck,"_ she told him at a time when the high was worn off already, when he could still think straight and no drugs dulled the severity of this though this did fucking help scatter all his thoughts and he was already scratching at his wrist, it helped some, "Okay. Shit… your father, we need to tell him."

Bad environment, this was not a place any should be raised in. It should be a comfortable, stable, and drug free place, full of love and acceptance and fuck everything else. Alastair would understand that, right? This was his daughter, he had to know that she would not be able to deal any longer and he would not be able to do his part either.

He could get clean, he had enough money to start with, he could try and do good.

Mother was able to raise Jimmy and him starting at the same age, he could do this.

It all started with telling Alastair.

"Pregnant, you say?"

"The pregnancy test was positive, yes."

It was as much his responsibility as it was Meg's and he would be the one to tell him, no matter the consequences.

"Rather young for children, aren't you, angel?"

Castiel refrained from shifting in his spot, pressing his arms to his side to keep still, "It's… not conventional, but I won't use that as an excuse to shirk my responsibilities."

"I don't imagine you would, what with that poor role model of a father teaching you how to be better."

That might as well have been a direct gut punch and he could not help it, his hands started tapping and his gaze broke off to the side. And the same response that he had for ten years came out, purely habitual.

"I never had one."

"Now, now. I don't think that's quite true, is it? You see, I happen to know everyone and everything in this town, so I knew your father."

Stop. Leave it alone, he never had one, that was it, end of story, never existed, he had no idea who he was, his name, anything.

"So, if you say you never had one, that either means you're lying to me or you don't remember anything about him."

Stop it, stop it, stop it, shut up, he knew he was _mean,_ he was _stupid,_ he was a bad person.

"I can, mm… refresh your memory if you'd like, tell you who he is, where he is now, anything."

 _Shut up, shut up, shut up,_ he was a bad person not him!

\---

His memory on what happened after that was a little foggy, though his head felt like he had cracked it open and he was later told it was likely he almost would have if he was not stopped. That was the past, none of that mattered, only one thing did about any of that was the one sitting down across from him.

"Well, well, isn't this a nice surprise? Didn't think I'd be seeing you anymore, Clarence."

"All I need is information, Meg."

"Hm… what do I get out of it?"

"A guarantee that life for you in here will not be infinitely more difficult than it needs to be."

Meg hummed in thought, examining the male and thinking. He had to have come a long way, all the way to sweet old Lincoln, Illinois for this and hell, why not, this might be the most exciting thing she had so far that did not mean a shanking or lockdown.

"What do you need to know?"

Castiel hated to have to say it, this was not a title that man deserved, but it was the only way Meg might know who he was talking about and this was necessary, he would bite the bullet this one time.

"My father. Who is he?"

Eyebrow arched, the female snorted a laugh, that was the last thing she saw coming, "Oh, man, Clarence, are you having daddy issues? _Again?_ You're thirty-six years old, I thought you'd be over this."

"My mother is dead."

That got her laughter to cut off abruptly, sobering up immediately. She knew Naomi Novak, met her in a slightly awkward way at age fifteen when she walked in on them, but after getting dressed and meeting her, she seemed like a nice lady. Probably did not like her much after if she found out she was supplying her precious son with drugs, though she was pretty nice to her considering the pregnancy scare they had.

"Fuck… Castiel, I am sorry. Good woman, too young. But what does your dad have to do with it?"

"Too young, as you said, she didn't deserve it. I'm looking for the one who does and I'm going to make sure he gets what he deserves."

That did not take too long to piece together and though she may be a bitch in a lot of regards to a lot of people, if there was anything she learnt in these years stuck in the same little cell and routine, it was that doing stupid, reckless shit that would get one, without a doubt, caught was not worth the effort.

"You know what that'll mean for you, don't you? You take this step, there's no going back."

"I am aware. That doesn't change my decision."

The female sighed, tilting back her chair some and pondering this all. Now, she could just not tell him, say it was for his own good, learn to cope with whatever his issues were with his dad and loss of his mom another way, a better way. Or she could tell him and either risk him actually managing to track him down and accomplishing his goal, in which case his being caught and thrown into jail would more likely than not occur or it might turn out that Dean–she imagined they were still together, or someone else of equal importance–or his brother or someone would stop him before he did it and there could be this whole nice intervention type deal that might give him closure.

Then she thought about what her father told her about Castiel, about how he was as a person. In the end, he was nothing more than an addict, of one thing or another. Drugs, sex, anything, and it would always take a turn for the worst. Was that what this was, then, addicted to the idea of getting some sort of revenge against that guy who helped bring him into the world then abandoned him for the sake of weakening the blow of his mom's death? Little was known about their relationship, a few tidbits were gotten here and there when Castiel was especially strung out, and none of it was good.

Addicts always needed their fix and she was a dealer, had been almost all her life and she had always supplied his addictions as she could, knowing what it would lead to. Maybe she was not as good and changed as society expected her to be locked up in here since she dropped the chair back on all four legs and leant forward. Hell, maybe someone would come save him before it got too bad, like it had been for all the other times. If not, then maybe she put an end to the cycle. Not the best way, but she never said she was a fan of that.

"Last I knew, he was in Raleigh."

"North Carolina?"

"Yeah. Don't know if he's still there, there's someone you can talk to and check if you can't find him, he'll know every single damn person in and out of there. I'd use him as a last resort, though, name's Crowley, but he's… man, hate to say it, we had nothing on the guy, not even close."

Castiel narrowed his eyes, trying to gauge if she was lying to him or not. It would be rather useless to lie, yes, if she or Alastair had tried anything to get back at him since the bridge, it surely would have happened in the last five years, they had no idea he was going to visit and it was doubtful they were biding their time until he did. However, this was important, he could not fail or slip up in any way whatsoever, this has to be perfect. It was what he could do, what he should have done from the start, that man should never have existed at all. That meant his brother and he never would have existed either, yes, though they did and that meant Castiel could put to use his existence.

"And what is his name?"

"His name is-"

\---

"-telling me you don't know your own dad's name?"

The man glared at the mechanic over the stack of boxes he was sitting in front of, setting the packet of papers he had on the floor next to him and sniffing, the air in the attic always made him want to sneeze, no matter how clean and organised the area was.

"I was seven years old when he left and I didn't even really realise he abandoned us until I was eight, what the hell do you expect?"

Dean shut up at that, not really sure what he could say that would not sound like he was being an insensitive ass because well, anything said in response sounded like being an insensitive ass and he kept looking through boxes of stuff. Although, now that he said it, he did remember what Castiel told him. The ATC told him he did everything he could to shield his brother from how it affected his mom when his dad left, that must be why it took the other so long to see he was not coming back.

Jesus, he was only seven when it happened.

"How was he, your dad? With you and Cas and your mom?"

Jimmy paused in flipping through some papers, lips pressed together and brow furrowed in thought.

"He was… I don't know. Our mother was almost always busy working, she supported our family, paid the bills, everything. My father was around instead and he fed me, took me to the park, things like that. Cas and my father were never really close, he never did things with him if he could help it, said he liked learning on his own."

There was something wrong with that.

"Why 'my father?' You talk about your mother as 'our mother,' but not your dad."

"Castiel never called him that is all. Always called him 'Sir,' said he liked calling him that instead. Back then, I figured he just didn't like him much, maybe in time he would. But he would always call him things: dumb, mean, stupid, a jackass, it progressively got worse growing up."

_I never had one._

That suddenly made a lot more sense. As did that strange complex he had where he was always the bad twin, the bad person. Maybe his dad had something to do with it, detached parents were the worst.

"So, why do you think he's going after your dad after all this time? I mean, it's been twenty-nine years since he last saw him."

School projects, more school projects, awards…

"He was always mad at him, I guess for leaving. Mother said he was going to school at the time, about to receive his Master's, then we wouldn't have to worry so much about having enough money and then he was… gone. Cas always said that if it was never for him, mother wouldn't have to work so hard, she deserved better, one jackass was the one who deserved all the misfortune, then he kept saying things since mother passed…"

Papers, more papers, awards-wait.

Their mom worked, dad went to school, she paid the bills, never had a father, he was the one who deserved it, it was safer alone…

_Fuck._

"You think he's trying to go after him to what, hurt him? Kill him?"

"I don't know exactly what Castiel's thinking about this. When it came to him… I could never tell anything besides that he was angry."

Fucking hell.

Dean knew that Castiel was capable of killing someone when it came down to the wire, when it was a matter of protecting his family and loved ones. Hell, he risked his own life in Missouri for that, he would have died, too, if Jimmy had not jumped right in. And he fucked that guy up back when he broke into Jimmy's house, then he shot that other douche when they were in LA. But, the man never did it for kicks, he was not happy doing it, he looked rather horrified when he shot that man, saying exactly that later on to him and that he only knew he had to get him off Dean before the douche reached the gun and shot him.

What was this though?

Going after his dad was not really protecting anyone, the dick was not a part of their life any longer, he was posing no threats, so what was this giving him what he deserves? Some sort of revenge plot that sprouted out of his mom's death? Because boy, was that one hell of a coping method, a very, very bad one that was not going to end pretty for anyone and yeah, everyone had their methods of dealing but this was not that. This was lashing out without thinking, this was just plain self-destructive, it was going to tear apart everything Castiel had worked for all these years.

Since Alastair and Lilith and Azazel, they had lived pretty average lives. They went to work, they went out to have fun, they visited family, they had the normal little apple pie life, what had he been holding in that snapped so bad that he went from that to homicidal? It was evident that between the twins, Castiel was closer with his mother than Jimmy in certain respects and with good reason, he had taken responsibility over him along with his mother and something told him he did it regardless of what his mother might have thought.

Was it that bad then?

Rifling through all the papers, he pondered this. He heard of deaths affecting loved ones this badly, like to the point of suicide and all, and he remembered his mom's death hit his dad hard, remembered the drinking and nights over at Bobby's with the man himself telling John to get his shit together, he had sons to raise, he remembered raising Sammy and watching over him. He also remembered John cleaning his shit up and trying to be a good dad, trying to make up for his past, him being a good dad, he remembered all of that, how he eventually bounced back.

Someone told him enough and in time, he understood that it was, he stopped the self-destructive cycle before he could no longer be saved.

That was it then, all they had to do was get to Castiel and do that for him.

"How will Cas know where to go? If you didn't know his name, what makes you think he will?"

"It's… call it a hunch, a twin thing, whatever you want, I know that he knows and if he didn't before, he somehow does now."

"Then we just got to stay one step ahead of him."

Which was harder than it sounded when there was all these papers and mementos to go through, it felt like hours before he found a box with a bunch of journals in them, each meticulously labelled.

"Jimmy, I think I found your mom's journals."

He could grab one and page through it, say it was because they needed to figure this out that he did it. Instead, he waited for Jimmy to come over and do it, not wanting to be disrespectful any towards Naomi. The one in hand was taken and opened up, azures scanning the page briefly. These were all of mother's personal thoughts and feelings, he was not keen on invading her privacy if he could help it. She was very open with them, anyway, reading her entries seemed unnecessary with that in mind.

"This is from 1998. Are there any from 1984?"

"Year you were born?" Dean pulled them out, one by one, reading the year and nothing more until he found two journals of that year to give over, "That's all there is. Think she mentions him in it?"

"I imagine he was there when we were born, she must have said something about him." The first notebook was flipped to the very back to check the date.

May sixth.

Not this one then.

The second one was opened, he hoped there was an entry for the day of and lo and behold, there it was, July tenth.

"Here it is, now let's see…"

_I am exhausted but no less filled with joy and love this day. James and Castiel are sleeping now, I asked Rachel to bring my journal to me. She has remained at my side through everything, been like my sister and family even when my own blood cast me out for my not only being pregnant but decision to keep my children. I have never regretted my choice and when I saw my little angels, I know I made the right choice. God blessed me with my sons, I will be the best mother for them, teach them differently than what my parents tried to teach me._

_I love them with all my heart even more, something I did not dream possible._

_The only thing I give them of my family is our surname, something that was of some disagreement at first. He wanted them to carry on his name, but I feel that if such were truly his desire, he would have been here with me, at the very least outside if not by my side. He claims to wish to be married when of age, a proposition that he does not appear to be fully invested in. Nor do I want him to be, truly, these last nine months have shown me that whatever we had has passed. But James and Castiel need a father, I will not rob them of their chance and perhaps Bartholomew will change with the twins now in our life._

_I still will not change their surnames, it is already done. James Novak and Castiel Novak sound much better than Thorne._

Jimmy stopped reading at that point, shutting the journal carefully and brow furrowed, blinking a few times like that would somehow get him to process what he just read. Who cast out their daughter for being pregnant? Who missed the birth of their child or children?

Mother never did that to Castiel, she was there for him, drugged out or not, and for Meg. Jesus, mother was only sixteen then when they kicked her out, seventeen when they were born. And he was aware he never saw any of his grandparents, he never thought it strange, maybe their family was not as close knit as others or they had already passed, he was never overly curious about it. Knowing they had abandoned her, it… hurt.

It hurt a lot, how could anyone do that to family?

Inconceivable, really. That and his father not being there when they were born. When Claire was born, he had nearly killed himself getting to the hospital in time to be with Amelia and was so certain he was going to get a ticket somewhere along the way. And yes, his hand hurt a lot after, he never once complained because Amelia had been through more in order to bring their daughter into the world, their beautiful daughter that he would never have missed for anything, the thought of not being there was horrible.

The way mother wrote about it seemed like he could not care less, nothing more than an obligation he did not have to fulfil if he did not want to.

"What did it say?"

"Huh?" Oh, right, Dean was sitting there next to him and did not read along, he was waiting for him to say something about it, "He's an ass, for one, apparently. Wasn't there when we were born, mother didn't even name us what he wanted because of how he was."

"Okay. Then we'll kick his ass for being one if there's time. She give a name?"

"Yes."

Now that he had one, he was not certain he very much liked it or what he uncovered about him.

"His name's Bartholomew Thorne."

And he was a little suspicious of a lot of those seven years now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there's who Sir is, I did think awhile on who it could be. I thought Michael, at first, but then other parts of the story might not fit. And, I didn't really like Bartholomew, so there's that. 
> 
> I think that this story is going to have a lot of Jimmy and Castiel, dealing with things of their past and such, seeing how they affect them now, stuff that wasn't really touched on in the last story because, well, they were trying to not get caught or killed. I had the perfect way to describe what this story was but it's three in the morning and I can't sleep and I got distracted by X-Men, the old cartoon one, so that thought is in the wind, haha;;
> 
> Have a lovely day!


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimmy learns something that he wonders how he ever missed at all and Castiel is set on his mission, deciding to do whatever it takes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is finally done. It's been awhile now, sorry about that, I really meant to finish this earlier. I think background and all is important and since It Takes Two never really dove into that, this one has a lot of it and I think it takes a lot darker turns into the personalities of both Jimmy and Castiel. This one is mostly Jimmy, at first, his perspective and all then a bit for Castiel. Since this is revolving around their family, I think it's important to do so and all.
> 
> I don't think there are many warnings for this one. Mentions of abuse, a little bit of violence, though nothing too graphic, a really bad anger fit, I don't really know what else I can call it, and very brief implied sexual content.
> 
> I feel like this was really quite a day to finish and post this after that new episode of Supernatural because wow, role reversal for this, I think;;
> 
> Either way, enjoy! :D

"Bartholomew Thorne? Dude, his name just screams he's a dick."

"Mother didn't seem to agree with how he was either."

Jimmy drummed his fingers against the cover of the journal before shaking his head, trying to focus, "Whether he was or not isn't telling us where he is. I've never heard his name before, he's likely not in Pontiac." That was a benefit of not being in such a large city like Los Angeles and having the job he did, business meant meeting people, knowing people, all sorts of things and he was confident that he knew enough of his hometown to be a reliable enough source to say he was not here. Thorne was never a surname he came across, which was a bit of a shame because they could find Castiel a lot sooner if he was here.

Then he contemplated the fact that he never knew he had relatively nothing of his father, not even the same last names. As a little boy, he never thought much about it and growing up, he never asked about it, thinking it was needlessly poking around and the possibility that mother had never been married did not occur to him. He figured they divorced or something, she kept the name for the sake of simplicity, not wanting to go through the legal process and there was a lot of things he never questioned before now that he thought about it in all the time Dean was texting away on his phone.

"This dick has a name, Charlie can track him down."

The man nodded and set the journal on the pile, frowning. Normally, it was annoying to him when things would not get out of his head, they cluttered and clanged around and drove him crazy and it itched, it itched so bad and he could never scratch it away, it built up then if it was really bad, he ended up having a fit where he would often remove himself from his house and go somewhere alone just to be safe. And those words were doing that, they bothered him greatly, what kind of father was that? If he was not there simply because he did not want to, was he ever actually present? It was one thing being there physically, another entirely being present. His memories of childhood were a little muddled, something he thought was not uncommon and he tried either way to conjure up every memory he had related to his father or Castiel that might be relevant, there had to be a reason he was always so full of hate and rage towards him.

\---

"Are you still sad, Cas?"

Jimmy walked with his brother down the hall, swinging their joined hands and big blue eyes on him. Castiel did not talk much during dinner and he did not pray before eating, only sat there and waited from mother and him to pray then poked at his food. Was he really sad and did not want God to know? He thought God would help and he added in to please help his brother be happy, but his brother was smart, he knew what to do, maybe it just did not include praying. The other smiled, not a big smile like when he was really happy, just kind of happy.

"I'm not sad."

That was what he said but with his just kind of happy smile and eyes looking so sad, Jimmy had to climb into bed with him, identical blue eyes staring at each other. Hands lifting up, he wiggled his finger and did the happy hands. It was a question, to see how he was and it took him awhile to raise his own hands to mimic the movements. He was happy to see that, though when his brother's sleeves slid down, he slowed down and squinted because his skin looked weird, maybe the lighting, he still reached out and his brother flinched away, surprising him.

"Cas?"

"… Sorry. I thought I saw a bug."

Bugs usually did not bother him and his cheeks puffed out in determination, looking around as he focused on finding and shooing away any bugs–his brother took scary things away for him, maybe bugs were scary to him and he could so the same for him–he turned back to him when he found none, "No bugs!" Grinning at the thanks he received, his hands came back up, still wondering about it though, he would find himself rubbing his wrists a lot later to try and make sense of it, was it really the lighting here, but right now he had to make sure his brother was happy, "So, yeah? Nine times one?"

Castiel smiled and his hand lifted.

"Nine times one is nine. Nine times two…"

\---

"I'm bored, mother."

Jimmy tugged at the hem of her shirt to emphasise his point, sighing loudly because what was the point of Back to School Night? They just stood around, looking at stuff they made but mother already knew that, what Castiel and he made, she already smiled and told them what a good job they did. The ten year old wanted to go home, there was no reason to stay. Mother had given him a smile, one that excited him because he knew that smile, it meant she was going to agree.

"Alright. I think half an hour is enough, I've already spoken to your teacher."

In his very horrible misfortune of being here and wandering around the classroom aimlessly, he was not there when mother talked to the teacher, though she did look a little upset. Miss Pop was not all too nice sometimes, that was probably it. Castiel did not like Miss Pop, he said that plenty of times, said she was rude and disrespectful to the girls and to him because he tried to defend them.

"Where's your brother?"

Although he did not like her, Jimmy did not expect him to just leave the class like that, he knew it was already kind of dark and mother said they should never be alone when it was dark. His lack of verbal answer was enough and she took his hand as they left the class and walked down the hallways, looking around. Maybe he went out of the halls altogether, went to the playground. They checked where their grade was and decided to go to the playground instead.

They never really made it.

"You leave them alone!"

"Fuck! You little shit!"

Jimmy recognised the first voice and so did mother, both of them running down the hall just in time to see some older guy practically shake Castiel off in a very ungentle way. And his brother was disoriented, though stood his ground in between this man and the girl–she was in their class, Tess was her name–and her mother. Tess was crying, her mother was trying to calm her down and cradling her face. It looked hurt and Castiel looked really angry, shoulders heaving and small fists clenched and was that blood? There was blood on his lips and oh no, he was that type of angry, the very bad kind that they were supposed to tell each other about when they felt it starting.

_"Don't touch them!"_

Mother was already in between the two before the man could do anything, pushing him back and looking mad in that way he knew she was whenever someone hurt them.

"Lay a hand on him again, I won't think twice about reporting you."

"He's the one who bit me!"

Now the blood made sense, the man's hand was bleeding and he was already by his brother, checking to see if he was not hurt. He obviously did not care about that because he was still glaring at the man.

"You hit Tess! You hit Tess and her mother. You're a _piece of crap,_ you're not a father, not a husband! You're just a _bad person!"_

Eyes wide, Jimmy looked at Tess and her mother before looking at the man. Hitting was wrong, he already knew that. Hitting anyone was wrong, but hitting family was something he could not remotely understand. He playfully shoved Castiel and he did the same, they played like that, it was never for reals.

This whole thing was new and truthfully a little scary for Jimmy, he had no idea what to do during all of it and when it was all done, when the man was away and mother calmed Castiel down and Tess and her mother were leaving, the only thing he could do was watch as Tess talked to Castiel. He stayed away, stayed sitting on the bench outside of the school because he never knew Tess was being hit, or her mother. Tess trusted Castiel to tell him that and so they were better friends, he should stay away as they talked, probably talking about that and if she wanted only him to know, he would not ask or listen.

All he really saw was that they were talking, Castiel shrugged, some more talking then he nodded. Then they hugged and Tess gave him a kiss. Like, a for reals kiss on the lips and she ran off to her mother and that was a little unexpected. Did Castiel like Tess? And Tess like Castiel? What was happening?

Only when mother had gone to Castiel after she finished talking with Tess' mother did he hop off and walk over, catching the last parts as they hugged.

"… didn't want her to be like me. And he reminded me of him and I just…"

"It's okay, angel. That was very brave. Just remember not to try and handle it alone, okay?"

"Okay."

Once they were walking back, Jimmy felt the need to ask. Not about what Tess trusted him with, but the other part.

"Cas, why'd Tess kiss you?"

"Because she likes me. And she asked if I wanted to be her boyfriend."

"Oh."

A minute later, "What do you have to do as her boyfriend?" Jimmy heard about this before, about boyfriends and girlfriends and it sounded confusing to him. Because there were boy _friends_ and then there were _boyfriends_ and the same with girl _friends_ and _girlfriends._ And then, "But if you're not a boy or a girl, then how are you a boyfriend? Aren't you just like… like a human-friend? Or kid-friend? Or Castiel-friend?"

His brother had told him before that he did not like being called a boy or a girl, he was Castiel and he was happy with that. It confused him at first only because he had no idea how to refer to him. Was he not his brother then? Not his sister. Twin could be either boy or girl, though Castiel said it was easier to still say brother and he did not know what else to use anyway.

He still said twin whenever he introduce them. Or sibling. Or Castiel.

Maybe boyfriend was the same thing, easier to refer to.

"I think it's like holding hands and kissing her and telling her she's pretty and nice and making her happy and telling her she can do whatever she decides she wants to do, like being there and stuff. And, Tess knows, but boyfriend is easier, I don't know what else it's called."

That sounded nice and Castiel was really nice with people, so Jimmy thought he would be great at being a boyfriend.

"Oh. Okay."

Three minutes later.

"Does that mean you're going to push your desks together in class?"

\---

"Castiel! Castiel, _stop!"_

Dropping his backpack as he ran towards him, the initial shock of showing up in the park and witnessing this sight when all they were suppose to do was meet here after his business club, not be beating a older looking guy half to death without a lick of restraint wore off quick enough. Tackling his brother off the man, he pinned down his arms as he pressed their foreheads together to keep him from trying to slam his head forward to knock him off, knowing that this was one of those times where he was too angry to think straight or realise it was him right away. And the immediate response was buckling under him, as expected.

"Cas, listen to me. Hey, hey! Just listen. Breathe and listen."

It was difficult, he knew, he knew how it overwhelmed and how there were only so many ways it could be let out before the way that came to be felt like it was splitting his head open and body was tearing apart and it was too much to bear, lashing out was the most effective way of getting rid of it. Hurting themselves, those who caused it, anything, the violence just poured out, but it was not without regrets, he had to stop him.

_"Stop, breathe and calm down, don't let your anger grow. Stop, breathe and calm down, find a quiet place to go. Everyone, once in a while gets a little bit angry. So, stop, breathe and calm down. Then come back and play with me."_

His brother did attempt to calm down as he sung quietly, finishing the last bit slowly as he tried to take deep breaths, _"So, stop… breathe and calm down. Come back… come back and play with me."_ A song that was usually more common for children, they both were aware, perhaps not often used by sixteen year olds yet they did because of the significance to them and things with significance, childish or not, were always more helpful than those simply with clinical value.

"That's it. Good. Okay." Crawling off him and refraining from letting out a breath of relief–he did not want him to feel any worse than he already would–and helped him up. Castiel blinked a few times, glancing at his bloody knuckles then at the unconscious male, eyebrows knit together.

"I… I think I was angry."

"Yeah, I think it was more than angry."

Jimmy ended up calling someone for help after Castiel telling him not to worry, the guy was not going to tell anyone it was him–one of them, then, those people he got his stuff from–though he still insisted his brother stay hidden. Once he was done, he went to the bridge where he was sitting at, knees drawn up to his chest and arms wrapped around them. Spot taken next to him, he opened up his bag to pull out the small first aid kit and mini water bottle he carried around just in case something like this happened.

His brother got into fights every so often and they could get nasty, but they never were this bad, it stumped him what could have caused this. Most of all his fights were because of him, because he was trying to get bullies away and had no other way, this was not that. This was a horribly blind rage, he rarely saw this in him, he knew he had it in himself, he still had terrible fits. And he wondered, was that how it was for him, was that how he looked?

That was freaking scary. More than that, actually.

Right now, he turned his attention to pouring water to wash most of the blood off then opening up one of the alcohol wipes to clean up his split knuckles.

"Cas, what happened?"

"It doesn't matter now."

"I think it does. You don't beat on someone without reason."

Setting down the alcohol wipe, he picked up the balm and began to apply it, seeing his free hand tap then clench tight, "… Just saying stupid shit."

"About?"

There was a long pause and he refused to look up at him, "Was comparing me to that jackass. I'm not… I'm not him." Now wrapping it up, Jimmy frowned.

"I don't see how you are? He left us, Cas. Abandoned us. You're not like him."

"Doesn't look like I proved it… just fucked him up, _hurt_ him…"

The teen had no idea what that meant and was given no opportunity to ask as his brother got up.

"We need to go. Can't be late."

"Yeah… okay."

\---

"Jimmy."

"Huh?"

Dean was looking at him and his wrist hurt, which might be because he had started scratching at it the longer he thought about this and the way all these memories were scattering too much whilst being a sharp blow nonetheless. Pulling his hand away, he coughed more just to do something and fill the silence before reaching over to the journals. Sorry, he was really sorry, he did not want to read mother's journals any more than he had to, he was only searching for that one because it was important.

"How long will Charlie take?"

"Not any longer than ten minutes."

"Okay. Good. That's… that's good."

Eyes narrowed, Dean watched Jimmy checking over the journals, the dates in particular, his movements slower than before and maybe a little hesitant, like he was trying to avoid finding what he was looking for.

"Are you alright, man? You seem… distracted."

Not the most fitting word yet better than being blunt about it and possibly having the guy snap back at him. A part of his personality, really, Dean learnt ways around being on the receiving end so often and the fact that they got along better now helped, too. The other was holding a journal now, having looked inside to check the month as well and not budging one bit.

"Yeah… yeah, I'm…"

Since he never finished his sentence, being alright was not in the cards and the mechanic allowed it to slip by this time because he was flipping through the pages now with purpose, eyes squinted as he searched and located whatever day he was looking for. And whatever he found was not good, judging by the way his eyes widened and lips parted or the way he flipped to the next page and then the next.

How he suddenly tossed the journal back in the box like it had burnt him, grabbed his wrist and hauled him out of there was surprising, with Dean hardly given any time to really feel that before he had to keep up with what he was saying.

"We have to go. Now. I don't care where, some direction, any direction, we have to get out of Pontiac, out of Illinois, we have to find Cas. _Right now._ Call Charlie, text her, tell her to please hurry up. We need to get to him."

It was probably the frantic edge to his words that had him shooting down the street in the Impala with no real destination. The I-70, perhaps, it was bound to take him somewhere relevant once he got to it and he counted his lucky stars when he felt his phone vibrate and checked the text.

"She says Bartholomew's in North Carolina. Raleigh."

Good thing he ate and used the bathroom before they left or else this ride was going to really suck real soon. Jimmy had his eyes closed most of the time as he tapped his finger or he was humming, not any tune in particular, it was one consistent, flat hum. He did a lot of random things that, a few of them, he knew Castiel did and usually did them when he was trying to calm down or something. Once, when he was mad, he had stormed off and Dean had followed, pissed enough to do so and probably make the fight worse only to find the other seated in the middle of their room, hands over his ears and talking to himself.

"I shouldn't yell Dean. I'm not mad at Dean. I'm mad because of work. I need to stop. I need to calm down. Stop, breathe and calm down, don't let your anger grow. Stop, breathe and calm down, find a quiet place to go."

That had happened a few times and he figured the twins must have that in common, personality traits that were similar. Problem was, Jimmy seemed to be getting more agitated the longer he kept trying to do this to settle down and Dean was really getting worried when he was bent over so his forehead touched his knees, hands over his ears, mumbling to himself.

"I'm not mad. I'm not mad. I'm not mad. Don't let your anger grow. I'm not mad. I'm in the car with Dean. We are going to Raleigh to find Castiel. I'm not mad. Don't let your anger grow. Find a quiet place to go. I am in a 1967 Chevy Impala with Dean Winchester. We are going to North Carolina, Raleigh to find my brother. I am not mad."

The man stayed in this position for something like an hour before he took in a sharp breath and straightened up.

"Dean. Pull over."

"There's nothing around here-"

"I said _pull the fucking car over."_

Never really hearing Jimmy swear and stunned to hear it laced with such venom, Dean did pull over as soon as he could, right into a whole lot of nothing. A few remnants of what was probably a fence, some old sign, not much for trees. Hell if that stopped Jimmy, who reached under his seat to grab the lug nut wrench stashed there and almost broke the door with the force he opened it. Any remark that was on the tip of his tongue crawl right back in and ceased to exist the moment he heard Jimmy shout and swing that wrench at the sign, the poor thing splintering on impact.

Fucking hell.

The mechanic watched as the man kept going, destroying the little bit there was here and screaming profanities or just screaming to do so, a goddamn one-eighty from the Jimmy Novak he knew. This, this was just… fury. Like, pure, animalistic fury or something, not restrained in any way and God, if this was something he had in him then freaking all the kudos to him for being so well-adjusted and not letting it define him all the time.

When the male had started kicking the remains and tugging at his hair harshly, with the wrench still in his hand, Dean went up to him and pulled his hands away as gently as he could.

"Jimmy. Calm down. You need to stop. You need to calm down," Castiel always said something, what was it, fuck, he was saying some of it earlier, too. He hoped this was right, "Don't let your anger grow. Find a quiet place to go. Stop, breathe, and calm down. Come on, follow with me. Stop, breathe, and calm down. We've pulled over. We're going to Raleigh to find Castiel. Now, we're going to go back to the Impala. I'm going to get us there. And we're going to find Castiel. We can do this, you and me. Okay?"

Carefully releasing his wrists, Dean held out his hand for the wrench, the man having to look at it for awhile, blinking and trying to catch his breath first, then handing it over like he was unsure of what he was even doing. Smile offered, he walked with him back to the car, shutting the door for him and getting in himself. He was back to being all bent over, not mumbling this time around and that was okay, Dean drove anyway.

The silence was a little suffocating and not really up for about nine more hours of it, he played some tunes. Somewhere in the fourth hour, Jimmy must have dosed off and he cringed at the thought of him remaining how he was and waking up with a horrible back pain–he was not old, but anyone could admit that hurt if it was nine hours–so he slowed to a stop when it was reasonable and coaxed him out of the position without rousing him. The mechanic even took off his own jacket, folded it up and wedged it in between his head and the window as a makeshift pillow before turning back to the road.

He thought about a lot of things now that he had essentially no one to talk to. First was what the fuck was that he saw. The twins, he knew, were similar in a lot of ways and different in the same amount. He knew Castiel sucked at saying how he felt when things were bad and did things that were either self-destructive or seemingly spontaneous, ergo the whole drinking himself into oblivion fiasco and getting his eyebrows pierced again or deciding he needed a haircut and taking a little disposable razor to it. Jimmy, though, he seemed not only unable to say it, he was also bad at letting it out.

When he was at their house and the man had grabbed the carafe without breaking eye contact, the look in his eyes was a little chilling, yeah, but he never honestly thought he would come at him and hurt him. At least, he did not until Amelia was barely able to fit herself in between the space there was left and pull him back from wherever he was at. She told him Jimmy had these moments, he had them ever since they met and even before that, that his moments were worse than his brother's and usually, he left the house and stayed away until he could calm down, for Claire's and her sake.

Was that what they were dealing with? Was Castiel in one of those mindsets, whatever the hell this could be called, and he was going after Bartholomew? Because, yes, the guy was a dick for leaving their family and sounded like a prick as a whole, yet if what he saw was even close to what Castiel had planned for the guy, he was not really in agreement with that. That would mean murder and a very gory murder that was unnecessary, it was not like when they were on the run and it was a last resort to stay alive, it was not of some drug goonies that most would probably not miss, it was not something that would remain in the dark and the ATC would end up being caught and found guilty and that was not something he was going to allow to happen.

He might have hit the gas a little harder.

He might also have shed even more time off their trip.

Although, he still did arrive at Raleigh when it was already dark, nine at night, Jimmy was still conked out in the passenger's seat. Must have tired him out, that whole thing, it did for the ATC. He felt a kind of bad when he had to wake him up, the other making that same little snorting gasp and jolt of his hands Castiel did when woken up suddenly and that kind of hurt.

Castiel should have talked to him, told him what was going on with him, they could have figured it out together. He was the first one who said that, it would take the two of them, always. Fuck the fact that he thought it was safer if he did it alone. Dean's whole damn premise when on the run was it was safer if he did it alone and because it ended up he did not, they met and all.

Jimmy trudged along behind him as he checked it and until they entered the motel–a good one–where he fell onto the bed with a whump. Then he thought against it and manoeuvred to sit.

"… I'm sorry."

Not what he was expecting his first words to be exactly.

"What for? You didn't hurt me or yourself, just some wood."

Jimmy ran his hand through his hair, sighing.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, that I couldn't control that. I don't… I'm usually better at handling it."

Dean made his way over to the bed across from him, sitting on it and facing him.

"Talk to me. What got you so worked up?"

It was nothing good, that much was obvious, and any other time, he would be more considerate, give him some time. Seeing as they had been talking about their deadbeat dad and something he read must have set him off, he sadly could not do so. And the other fidgeted, beginning to scratch at his wrist again, this time more angrily than anxious.

"I… I was stupid. I was so damn stupid, I can't believe…" Whatever he learnt must have been terrible and the man had to clench his eyes shut and took a deep breath in order to get the rest out, "Bartholomew… Castiel wasn't just distant because he didn't like him, didn't just call him 'Sir' because he liked it, didn't just say the shit he did for him walking out on us when we were seven. Mother kicked him out, threatened to call the police on him when… when she found out what that bastard _did_ to Cas…"

Dean did not need him to continue and he did not want him to, not for that, not to hear that kind of bullshit that he did nothing to deserve.

"… Fuck. That… Jesus Christ. Okay," now he fully understood why he reacted the way he did, his initial dislike of that dick went into full blown hatred of the guy, "Alright. We can… we just have to get to him before Cas and we'll… we'll handle it."

Not kill him, as much as he might feel the urge, maybe… smack him around a bit, yeah.

The man seemed conflicted about a lot of things and Dean clapped him on the shoulder.

"We can do this. I'm going to get us some food, we can lay out a plan and get started tomorrow, I doubt Cas has figured out exactly where he is."

"Yeah… okay."

He sounded about as convinced as Dean felt.

\---

Raleigh was not exceedingly large, though enough so that locating Bartholomew was going to be a hassle. And Castiel was not looking for hassle. He was looking for this stain, he was going to wipe him off the earth and make it a slightly better place and he was going to enjoy every single second of it and make him pay for every single thing he did and caused.

The problem was, looking him up in conventional manners did not work. Having chucked his iPhone out the window somewhere along the road to be able to do something other than drive and to minimise the possibility of being tracked, he went to find a computer and do a search. Then he went to the old fashioned way of a phone book, which was probably less helpful than the computer.

None of that helped out and he was not keen on wasting anymore time, so he bought himself some cigarettes, lit one up, thought about what Meg told him and found himself walking down the not so great parts of the city. Every city had these areas and he was quite comfortable in them, unfazed by what he saw and frankly not giving two shits about it.

He had a mission and he would complete it as swiftly and efficiently as possible.

If he found it pleasurable and looked forward to it, that was his business.

No one else he knew should be involved and they would not be involved, he would throw them out of this whole thing before he let that happen, even if it required cutting them off. Safer that way, really, they would not be implicated, not have blood on their hands, none of it.

Now he was getting a little bored, people were not very punctual and he would think they would be, being in the business they were. He even managed to light up another cigarette before he saw two men approach, pushing himself off the wall he was leaning against and not wasting any time.

"I need to speak to Crowley."

Male number one looked at him like he was crazy and who knew, maybe something did snap in him, he hardly cared at this point.

"Yeah, no. That's not going to happen. Boss doesn't mingle with druggies."

"I'm not a druggie and I'm also not going to say this again, I need to speak to Crowley."

Well, that was mostly true, he used to be one, not anymore. Tapping the cigarette ash away, he blew out the smoke in their direction and did not react when male number two pulled out a gun and aimed it at his head, simply took another drag.

"And he said he ain't talking to you."

"I highly suggest you put that away and take me to him."

"You're not in a position to give orders, bub. I've got the gun."

Castiel sighed, letting out the smoke and looking at the man with such pity because it was really just a shame, he was not who he was after, this could have gone along so smoothly if they listened. It was not a likelihood, he knew, though a man could dream.

"Yes. You do, don't you?"

Not for very long.

His hand shot out, smashing against the other's wrist and feeling something break from the force behind it. The gun dropped and fell easily into his hand as he swung his leg out, knocking him off his feet and he followed down, sitting on the man. His half smoked cancer stick was grounded down right in between his eyes, ignoring the screams and aiming the gun at male number one.

Easy, truthfully, not his preferred method but the whole thing only took a few seconds.

"It's not that I enjoy this, but if you try and run, you're going to have a rather slow and painful death."

Flicking away his snuffed out cigarette, he gave another sigh, this time talking to male number two he was seated on.

"I do apologise about the wrist, I once had my fingers broken, I know it hurts. It shouldn't be too bad, I don't think I damaged it too severely. Give it a few months and some physical therapy."

He paused.

"I'm not as sorry about your forehead, truth be told. I should be and believe me, if circumstances were different, I think I'd feel guilty at the idea of it. As things are, I'm more annoyed that I had to waste a perfectly good cigarette and a little regretful I didn't use your eye. I think that would have been quicker and not smell as much."

Heaving himself up, he kept his eyes on male number one, even as he kicked the one on the ground in the head. Stay unconscious for awhile, yes, though he should live.

Maybe.

Not important anymore, not part of his mission.

"Now. Please take me to Crowley, I'd hate to waste more cigarettes or have to use this gun. They're unpleasant, aren't they? So loud and rather odd, I have to say. I often wonder how the world would be if we never created them," Castiel tilted his head when the other kept staring at him with wide eyes, frowning lightly and gesturing to the gun, "Is this frightening you? I'm sorry, that must distract you, a little counterproductive," the safety was flipped on and he tucked it away, "I'd still like you to take me and I'd still find it distasteful to kill you, I'm not after you, though I could if necessary. But I simply need Crowley's help finding who I am after and I need you to take me to him. Simple, isn't it? Now, please, I'd like to finish this quickly."

The other started moving only because holy fuck, he did not want to die, this guy was fucking insane and he did not want to die in a fucking alley. Sure, Crowley might be pissed if he found out it was him, but how likely was it going to be that he did know? Crazy guy had no idea who he was and he seemed not to give a shit, simply walked along with him and he was creepy as fuck because he kept humming. Just one long hum, droning on, every so often. And his hands kept moving, open and close, open and close.

Fuck, was he thinking of how to kill him?

Hallelujah, they were here.

He walked into the building with him and down the halls, stopping right before getting to the door.

"In there. I'm not getting any closer." The guy just tilted his head at him, eyes narrowed and then he smiled and if that was not haunting enough, he was reaching back and he panicked, "Wait! Wait, I brought you!" He looked at him peculiarly when he pulled it out before his lips parted in understanding.

"Oh. _Oh, no._ You think I'm going to _kill_ you, don't you?" And he fucking frowned like he was confused how the hell he jumped to such a conclusion, "That'd be rude, wouldn't it? I'd _hate_ to be rude when you've been so helpful." The way he pushed out the magazine and emptied the chamber like a fucking blur was terrifying and he jumped when the gun was flipped so he could grab it and he just fucking looked like he was the one acting oddly and unsure why he would have done that, "Don't be afraid. I just thought you should take this back to your friend. I'm sorry that I'll have to keep the bullets, I can compensate him for that later. Have a good night."

Just like that, he gave that scary as shit smile and turned to enter the room. It was not scary in the way that it was promising pain and brimstone and shit. It was… serene. Like this whole thing was nothing and he was taking a walk in the park, enjoying the scenery and that was terrifying.

One fucked up guy, he hoped he never saw him again.

Castiel was not troubled with him any longer, he took him where he needed to and he was a very helpful man. Under threat of death, granted, although everyone needed motivation now and again. Closing the door behind him, he was not surprised to hear guns cocking and two aimed at him, from two guards and he looked at the one sitting behind a desk.

"I _just_ disarmed one of your men and put a cigarette out on him, I don't think these two would find it any more pleasant than he did."

Also, he was a little tired of people getting in his way and his patience was wearing thin. Crowley stared at him, sizing him up, no doubt, before motioning them to lower their guns.

"You've caught my interest."

An accent, how intriguing. It was better not to think about it because then he remembered Balthazar and how he promised he would call. Kind of felt bad that he did not. Another time, perhaps.

"I need you to find someone for me. Bartholomew Thorne."

Might as well be blunt, results were quicker that way and the man had that familiar calculating stare, getting up from his chair and walking around the desk.

"I know you. You're that lad that took down Alastair and Azazel, aren't you? Castiel?"

"I was a part of that, yes."

"So why should I trust you? Who's to say you won't be coming after me next?"

"Because I don't care about you, I just want to find him and kill him. It's actually quite simple and I wouldn't have come here if I didn't think you'd help locate him faster."

Crowley being here, Crowley being gone, what the hell did it matter? Yes, it would be better with less drugs, he knew that. Yet, taking down Azazel nearly killed him, he stuck through to the end and did it for Dean. This man was nobody to him, a means to an end, and even if he were gone, someone else would roll right along and set up. His single request and set decision on what he was going to do must have been good enough for him, the man leaning on his desk and waving the guards out, speaking once they were out.

"And what do I get in return?"

"I don't quite care. I don't think you'd take money, I imagine you have plenty of it as is. You should invest in better dealers, though, the ones you have are very poor at defending themselves. Do you have a system? Alastair had one, it was efficient."

Brow arched, Crowley hummed in thought, "And you have all this information about it?" That could be useful, there were some kinks to work out recently and as idiotic as Alastair was for falling into a trap, he did have remarkable control over everything.

"I do. I was there nearly four years and his daughter and I were close, she talked a lot about it. It'd solidify your claim here, I think, if you modified his methods and implemented them. Not that I find this operation enjoyable. It would prevent any others trying to come in and possibly starting a feud, however, and places like this are never clean."

Smart enough boy.

"Alright. You give me what I need, I'll tell you where he is, deal?"

"Deal."

"There is just one thing. Sealing the deal is a must."

"Do you wish for a written contract? Given your profession, I don't think tangible proof is advisable."

True. He normally dealt with things a different way, as much as he liked written contracts. They were used for more important business transactions. On the other hand, this could use something a little different.

"I was thinking more a kiss. Or a blow."

Castiel was staring at him, head tilting like a little bird would do, just watching. Then he blinked and was walking right towards him, grabbing his suit jacket and crushing their lips together in a way that spoke naughty times ahead. Not that he was complaining, especially when he broke the kiss–he might have been a little breathless–and did not hesitate in dropping to his knees, deft fingers working on his slacks already as he looked up at him through his lashes and he was probably going to have some fantasies about those big, blue eyes of his.

"Anything else?"

Definitely not complaining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Castiel isn't thinking straight anymore, if that wasn't already abundantly clear, I think his dealing with those two guys, the way he interacted with them and his sealing the deal made the point that's he's kind of flown off the reservoir. Reservation? Saying goes something like that, I think. But, this side of him is a pretty nasty side, one that only showed up briefly, I believe, in It Takes Two, if you read it, when Castiel is demanding to know who left the pictures of his family. 
> 
> Poor iPhone, too, or poor wallet, these things are expensive, so it can go both ways. In the warnings, I wasn't sure if I should put cheating. Because, well, I do have my own personal opinion about it, but I think I'll leave that up to you to decide for yourself as well. 
> 
> And, Jimmy, he has his own issues to deal with, like that anger of his. There's a reason the twins have this trait, why Jimmy constantly questioned if he just took after Bartholomew and such. I tried to put some happy in the flashbacks, cute and innocent views of what boyfriends and girlfriends are and how Jimmy accepted how Castiel felt about who he was without argument. 
> 
> The methods they use to try and calm down like the song, humming, talking out what they're doing and trying to separate what they're actually angry at, these are all things I've seen done with children and even adults where I work and I've tried some out when things get too overwhelming, they're actually quite helpful. Most times. Obviously, not for Jimmy this time, but it usually does the trick.
> 
> I don't know if I have any other notes.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel has a mission. Eliminate the stain, rid the world of him. He is meant to be focused, calculating, a soldier in every sense of the word. The problem is, he has always had a crack in his chassis. Except, perhaps this time, it is not too much of a problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's the next chapter. I think it's one of those pretty defining ones, like it'll really impact what everyone does and all that good stuff.
> 
> Warnings, let's see. In the beginning, there's not super graphic depictions of violence, but I guess it can count as really morbid, like kind of gory type deal. 
> 
> And, there's happy stuff of some sort, to try and balance it out.
> 
> Enjoy! :D

Blood.

It was a smell Dean absolutely hated that he knew, but it was too unique, too grotesquely unique that he never failed to recognise the scent and always, it always caused a reaction like he ate something nasty and bitter. One's mouth reacted the way it did, sent the signals that it did when something was bitter because it was associated with toxins, bad things. And it felt ludicrously sharp, the response in his mouth, for not having eaten anything bitter, only smelt that blood.

This blood started a small trail on the sidewalk he was on, emeralds peering at it curiously before following it, wondering why no one saw it, no one called it in because this was a neighbourhood, even if all the driveways were empty, people must live here, maybe they were all at work. As the smears of blood got larger, right before turning the corner, he heard a gentle hum.

Peaceful, almost… tender?

Then someone started singing.

_"Alouette, gentille Alouette. Alouette, je te plumerai…"_

Dean knew that song, it was that one they sung in elementary school and he had no clue what it meant then–they gave some explanation and he was playing with cars, he remembered–and still had no clue now. A foreign language, he knew that much, yet the voice was not, no matter how soft. He knew that voice, that tone, he knew it from when they would be in bed together, or cooking, or simply sitting on the couch, watching a movie.

So, he might not have been as cautious as he should have been when turning the corner.

_"Je te plumerai la tête, je te plumerai la tête. La tête, la tête. Alouette, alouette, oh…"_

He immediately regretted it.

Natural reaction had him gagging and lifting his arm to cover his mouth and nose, eyes wide at the scene because no, no way in hell could this be right. No way in hell could that be Castiel over that body, slicing into it with such calm precision, reaching into that abdominal incision, a horrid squelching and blood spurting out as he felt around, finally locating what he was searching for, smiling queerly and pulling it out.

Breath speeding up, he had to lower his arm–lower, goddamn it!–and words had to come out.

"Cas…?"

The ATC finally looked up at him, those blue eyes of his a little strange looking, like someone had dialled down the hue and the male got up to make his way towards him.

"Dean. I did it. I did it. I did it for you, for Jimmy."

That hand covered in blood and most likely other stuff from _inside the fucking body he sliced open_ took his and placed something in it. A bullet. This was a bullet and he had to look at the guy again. Familiar, he was familiar, but why? Lips were pressed against his, this was all horrific, he was frozen in place and what was this, what was going on? Now he was murmuring, what was he saying?

"I should have done more, shouldn't I have? Made him pay for threatening you, for hurting Jimmy… I should have made him  _beg and scream."_

Hurting Jimmy?

A bullet…

Jimmy…

That was when…

_"Alouette, gentille Alouette. Alouette, je te plumerai…"_

Dean was walking down an abandoned area, a song sung quietly and he knew this song. In elementary school, they sung this. He wondered what it meant. Maybe he should have paid more attention.

He knew who was singing it though.

So, he ran down the street, recognising this area after awhile as somewhere in LA, where that nice homeless man was with the tent, the one he asked to protect Castiel. Where did he go, he wondered, why was this whole place empty, why was Castiel singing, they were supposed to be discreet here or else Azazel and Lilith would know they were here.

Turning the corner, he halted instantly, mortified at what he saw. There was Castiel and he was safe. Mostly. He was unsure if he could say he was completely safe because he just saw him take a fucking loose piece of concrete and smash it down on some guy's head and not for the first time, judging by how it no longer looked much like a face at all and oh God, was that the guy's _brain?_

_"Je te plumerai le bec, je te plumerai le bec. Le bec, le bec. La tête, la tête. Alouette, alouette, oh…"_

How this did not bother the other, how he continued humming as he tossed aside the concrete and even leant in closer to examine, delicately peeling away skin and shattered bones and wiggling his fingers in, Dean could not explain. He might as well have been petrified, unable to do anything but stare as the ATC paused and smiled in triumph as he found whatever he was looking for, singing again.

_"Alouette, gentille Alouette. Alouette, je te plumerai…"_

A sharp tug of his hand and fucking hell, something _snapped_ in the body, blood actually squirted out like those little squibs but this was real, actual _human blood_ and the man did not bat an eyelash.

_"Je te plumerai le cou, je te plumerai le cou. Le cou, le cou. Le bec, le bec. La tête, la tête. Alouette, alouette, oh…"_

And then he finally saw him and this seemed too frighteningly familiar, how he got up and came over to him, how he took his hand and put something in it, how he could finally move, only enough to look down and see a bullet in his hand. It was familiar how those lips touched his and he was talking, except those eyes were not near as bright like he knew them to be.

"Dean. I did it. I did it. I did it for you."

What?

How could this be for him?

"He was hurting you, Dean… I promised to protect you. _Always._ I should've taken my time with him, shouldn't I have? I should have made him _beg and scream."_

Hurting him?

A bullet…

LA…

That was when…

_"Alouette, gentille Alouette. Alouette, je te plumerai…"_

Fear.

The first thing that registered was fear and Dean had no idea why. He had been in plenty of dark houses before and attics were just kind of always dark. Attics were not always this empty, although he got out of there soon enough and tried to find his way around, flipping a light switch only to find it was not working.

Okay.

Candles. Candles were good and candles were usually in the kitchen. Navigating this house was oddly easy and he had the time to think why. It was empty, there was nothing around, it might as well be abandoned, yet he was here before. He knew where the couch should go and that there were pictures hung once and how it always smelt like fresh flowers.

This house belonged to… someone he knew, someone dear to him. A woman? A woman came to mind, with kind blue eyes and brown hair, always up in a bun, smelling like the earth-no, her garden.

The garden she loved…

Naomi.

Her name was Naomi Novak. This was her house.

Why was it empty?

He turned the corner to get to the kitchen and really wished it was empty.

"Jimmy!"

Jimmy was slumped against the refrigerator, hands over his gut and blood oozing out, teeth stained with blood that poured out of his mouth, eyes vacant, and shit, shit, what happened, he was not breathing, there was no pulse, fuck, oh fuck, _Jimmy was dead._

This fact had him recoiling away, heart pounding and fuck, oh God, he should call the police, ambulance, someone, anyone.

Castiel.

He should call Castiel and tell him to get over here, he needed to be safe, needed to be with him. Yet, there was this bone chilling fear and thought of _do not do it,_ anyone but him and it confused him so much, why would he be thinking that? Castiel was his boyfriend, this was his brother, they looked out for one another.

In this time he was thinking, an arm wrapped around him and even if he wanted to move, he found he could not and whoever it was leant in by his ear, hot breath only making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and having no choice but to listen to the song, whispered out like it was meant just for him.

_"Je te plumerai le dos, je te plumerai le dos. Le dos, le dos. Le cou, le cou. Le bec, le bec. La tête, la tête. Alouette, alouette, oh…"_

Castiel.

The other buried his face in his neck and sighed, nipping softly and why was Dean so scared, why could he not move, why the hell was the man not saying something, his brother was _dead right in front of him._

"Isn't it interesting, how it always comes down to this? You say no, I say yes. I say no, you say yes. And someone always… _always_ has to pay the price. Why do you think that is, Dean?"

"Cas…"

A harder bite to his neck, it hurt, and he could not fucking move.

"My brother, Dean. My beloved twin brother, my only family by blood I had left and he's… well, he's obviously _dead._ I asked you to protect him and he's _**dead."**_

Another bite and he was pretty sure it broke skin if the last one did not.

Castiel made a quiet hissing sound as he moved back to how he was at first and Dean could feel something slick against his earlobe and a chill run down his spine.

"You taste good, have I ever told you that? You know, like I told you to _protect Jimmy?_ Like I told you it's _safer alone?_ Because you didn't listen to either of those and now look. _**Look at what you've done!"**_

The ATC was pressed up against him from head to toe, something that changed as he shifted ever so slightly and then there was something pressed against his back and he went back to his neck, soothing the bite with his lips and tongue and Dean was terrified and how could this be, why was he doing this, why was he so scared?

"Castiel… _please."_

He had no idea what he was asking for, the words just came out.

"Have I ever told you, Dean… _I love you?"_

_**Bang.** _

\---

"Dean!"

Jolting awake, he nearly collided foreheads with Jimmy, heart racing and panting, eyes darting around before settling on him when he was reassured no dead body was suddenly going to fall from the sky or anything. The man was staring at him strangely, with that pinch in his brow and then he was cautiously letting go of his shoulder and handing him an unopened bottle of water.

"Here. It might help."

Dean kept staring at Jimmy the whole time, eyes dropping down every so often and no blood every time, to the point where the other started squirming a little under that level of scrutiny and finally snapped.

"Why are you staring? Stare at your water. Or the wall. Just stop staring at me."

The mechanic blinked and tore his gaze away, picking at the label of the bottle.

"Sorry. Just… bad dream."

"… Want to talk about it?"

"Maybe later. We should go get breakfast."

So, they were dressed and went to Denny's, it was close enough and the whole time, he could not stop thinking about that dream. Nightmare was more like it. That song was stuck in his head, too, it was going to drive him insane if he did not figure it out and as their cups of coffee were set down, he asked.

"Hey, you, uh… you know this one song? It's a kid song, _Alouette_ or something, from back in elementary school?"

Jimmy paused in the middle of ripping open a sugar packet, eyes squinted and then he tore the packet open all the way, something Dean avoided looking at because somehow, it seemed rather violent and scarily easy to do that, just… rip something apart like that and see all the contents spill out.

So fragile.

"I know it, yes. It was a song I was taught in beginning French in high school, though. What about it?"

"Then you know what it's about?"

"Well, I was told it was about plucking feathers of a lark, that's what the song says. We didn't really go into details of its history and interpretation, it was more to teach us body parts."

"Does Cas know it?"

"Not really, I guess? He took Spanish in high school. He might have picked it up, never really thought to ask."

Body parts. Plucking feathers of a lark and he learnt it for the body parts. Dean could recite the song, could say the words even if he had no idea what they meant, but why the fuck did his brain have to pick such a creepy song and make that whole thing about a thousand times more piss in his pants scary?

"Then… what's tête?"

"Head."

This kept going until finally, "What's dos?"

"Back."

Back… he remembered, the last thing was that Castiel was behind him, he was holding him from behind and there was something against his back and then…

"Here you go!"

Jumping in his seat, the waitress did not catch it, talking to the other about his plate. Jimmy, however, did see it and after thanking the female, turned to him.

"Alright, talk. What the hell's got you so high strung? And what's this song got to do with it?"

His grand slam was not so grand now, he ended up staring at it either way because geez, maybe he did remember more of that song than he thought and it was not a comforting thought in the least.

"It was in my dream. Bad one, I'd really rather not recount the whole damn thing. But you died. Cas was there and…" the mechanic ran his hand through his hair, pulling at a small tuft of it, "Maybe I should take you back. Because… fuck, I made a promise to Cas. I said I'd protect you at whatever cost and I know you're worried and angry and hell, you probably want a go at that dick, but this isn't exactly safe, you know? I'm not saying don't help, just… help at a distance, where I know something bad isn't going to happen to you. It's not the promise alone, either, man. I can't… I _don't_ want you in danger."

Family and all, he sometimes had trouble forming the words, though by this point Jimmy should know he was family, right? And he looked out for family, always has and always will, that meant keeping them as far from danger as possible. He looked unconvinced of leaving, unfortunately, at least he did not look angry at what he said. All he was doing was staring at him thoughtfully, as if processing what he said and not simply spit it back at him in some form of an insult.

"Do you remember Missouri, at the bridge?"

"Jesus, I don't think I could forget even if I tried."

"You told me not to jump in after Cas, I'm terrified of swimming and I went anyway. I thought I was going to drown that whole time and you were the one who rescued me, you rescued both Cas and I. I had a _bullet_ in my shoulder and do you remember what I told you when you said to get up?"

"You weren't going to move until I swore I would take care of Cas."

"Exactly. And I don't know if you've realised, but Cas and I? We go to the ends of the damn earth for each other, always have, always will. He's nearly gotten himself killed more times than I want to accept for me yet this is the first time that I'm honestly terrified down to my freaking core that he's going to get himself killed and even worse, that it might be his endgame. So, I'm sorry, I know your promise means a lot to you, but I'm going to put myself in all the damn danger I need to in order to get my brother back, safe and sound, even if it means I have to do it without you."

Fuck.

Stubbornness seemed to be another trait the brothers shared and it was truly a bitch that like getting angry was more common with Jimmy, being stubborn also seemed to be a trait that was more prominent in him at this moment. That nightmare still was at the forefront of his mind, still nagging at him and dream Castiel's words echoed alongside it.

_**Look at what you've done!** _

He had not done much of anything yet. If anything, he was protecting Jimmy, right? He had driven, which the other might not have been able to do in his state when first reading the journal. And he had been there to calm him down. So, keeping him safe, yeah? Yeah, he was, and as long as he kept him close, he would keep him safe and he would not be like he was in that nightmare, all bloody and glassy eyes.

"Fine. But, you don't leave my sight."

"I'm not having you watch me pee and shower."

"You know what I mean."

Breakfast carried on in relative silence. Silence that he sort of wished was happening in his head, too.

_Have I ever told you, Dean… **I love you?**_

No, not in that way. It might be a little strange to people, that they were together for five years and never spoke those three little words. They just never seemed necessary, he supposed. Actions spoke louder than words, right? Both of them knew that the other felt that way and their actions said that. Sometimes, they said things that could be substituted for that, like their whole, "I am yours and you are mine" thing they had, a thing Dean loved to hear and say himself in these special little moments they had.

He also loved tracing the tattoo Castiel had gotten on their third year anniversary on the inside of his left wrist, some symbol he had no clue what it was at first. It looked like an overly fancy, cursive capital L with three dots above the final stroke with some coordinates below and that was nice, it looked nice, especially with the amethyst shades, watercolour style and all. Then Castiel explained it was something he found and thought interesting, angelic symbology, and this one meant sacred union, the colour was said to amplify the energy of it, and the coordinates were of their house.

Dean teared up as he explained his reasons for choosing it, not that he really felt embarrassed about it because holy hell, Castiel sat through a session planning this tattoo out and another of a needle rapidly stabbing into him, over and over, and etched that permanently into his skin.

So, yeah, never said "I love you" in those exact words, though they knew.

Kind of sucked that the first time he did hear them, he ended up shot in the back.

Just a dream, though, right?

Right.

\---

The point of being in this park, Castiel had no idea. After ensuring their deal was sealed, something he was more interested in finishing quickly and Crowley seemed eager to stretch out as long as possible, he redressed himself and had asked him for a burner phone and where was a good place to stay the night. The man insisted he set him up, that was fine, and to come by around three the next day to start working on improving his little operation, something he was not as fine with.

The deal was he give him that, then Crowley would tell him. And if he had to wait until three, that meant it would be longer staying and not completing his mission. He had said just that and the man said to relax and why not check out Baileywick Park in the meantime, he would find something very interesting there. A park was not what he was looking forward to seeing, regardless of it being a nice park, and he had been here since seven thirty, refraining from smoking because he still had respect for the fact that this was a place children played at, no need to pollute the area or risk any passing children seeing the bad habit.

So, he sat there, thumb rubbing circles on his left wrist until about eight ten, deciding he was bored enough and nothing was going to change in the park, might as well leave somewhere he could smoke. Whatever Crowley thought he would think interesting was not showing itself, he did not care, and he was already reaching into his jacket to pull out his smokes when a little boy suddenly came around and crashed right into him, squeaking at the impact.

Castiel had not budged, the boy was a twig, one that had fallen flat on his bottom and he slid his hand back out to offer the boy, kneeling down to reach his level.

"You might not want to make your turn as fast, you'll be able to control it better that way."

The boy looked up at him in a mix of fear and awe, eyes moving across his face and settling on his hair before he caught himself.

"Sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to! Please don't tell on me!"

"I won't, I promise. Are you okay, though? I think my legs might have been a little more solid than you were expecting."

His eyes, big and blue, widened even further when he asked if he was okay and something in Castiel had reacted on impulse at the look in them, moving so he sat cross legged in front of him.

"You know what, never mind. You look very strong, you probably didn't even feel it, did you? I bet you're really fast, too, if I hadn't gotten in your way. So, I'm sorry. I hope you don't tell on me."

He must have never had an adult apologise to him because he appeared extremely distressed by the notion that he even had that thought, scooting a little closer.

"I won't! I won't tell! And-and I am fast! I'm really fast!"

"Do you run for fun? I think it's fun, I like to run every morning."

"Mm! I like to run during recess!"

Castiel tilted his head, a curious thing that the boy was not in school right now, he had his backpack and everything. He must have come from the elementary school a few minutes away and so far, no one had shown up to come after him. Did he run away from school? Ditch? So young, maybe seven, at most eight, that was dangerous for him. If he asked why he was not in class, he might run and although he could catch up with him, he would not trust him.

Trust with children was essential.

"I miss recess, it was my favourite part of school."

"I like when we draw!"

"I bet you're really good at it."

"I am!"

"Do you have any drawings with you? I'd love to see."

That surprise made his heart clench, it was too relatable, the way he knew it meant no one asked or no one really cared, must have dismissed it and he was far too eager in fumbling with his backpack to get a notebook he had and open it up. Seeming to grow shy and uncertain, he clutched the notebook to his chest, chewing his lip nervously.

Castiel had a mission, he was here for one thing and one alone.

However, he also had until three, this boy was alone and reminded him of himself, in a way, just an extra part to it all now, until three, so he smiled reassuringly and leant in some, whispering conspiratorially.

"Want to know a secret?"

The boy looked at him, momentarily forgetting his uncertainty and eager to know this secret.

"What?"

"I can't draw. At all. I _suck_ at it. And anything you draw, it'll be amazing to me. I promise."

Nodding as he listened and smiling himself, the boy held out his notebook and scooted a little closer, "I can show you! How to draw, I mean. I mean, if you want, I have crayons. And pencils. And my notebook."

"I think you'd be a great teacher. I just hope I'm-"

_Jesus fucking **Christ.**_

His words died on his tongue as he looked at the drawing in his hand, azures tracing the impressive amount of detail of what he imagined was the playground at the school. It was done in crayon, the drawing, and he flipped to the next page to see the park they were at right now drawn with colour pencils and hell, he was good enough to colour inside the lines around seven, but that was it, nothing like this. All the drawings were like this, with more skill than he had in thirty-six years of life and would likely ever have and he looked at the boy.

"You're _amazing_ at this. I'm going to be a terrible student."

Somehow, all that anxiety drained away with his sincere compliment and he puffed out his chest, positively beaming.

"Nah! I can show you! Come on, I have a spot!"

Scrambling up, the boy was practically hopping from one foot to another, fingers wiggling and hands moving and Castiel had the sudden urge to mimic the movement, settling for standing and letting the boy take his hand to tug him along. When they got to the table and he had his stuff out, the ATC held out his hand.

"Castiel."

The boy took his hand and gave a toothy grin.

"Samandriel."

One thing Castiel learnt was that he was, indeed, still terrible at drawing and even with Samandriel's instruction, his attempt to draw a dog turned out more like a lump with a smaller lump for a head and little legs with a tail. The second thing he learnt was that the boy was starved for attention and drank in every second he gave him, chatting with hardly any pause about his drawings and what he liked at school and his favourite things.

A few times, he stopped and started to apologise, at which point he would tell him to keep going, this was interesting, and it renewed his passion every time. He did not talk about his family or why he was not at school, that was okay, he was not going to press him for it, he hardly knew him, although it was nearing noon now and the boy had not eaten.

"Samandriel, what's your favourite food?"

"I like chicken sandwiches. They're _really_ good!"

"I like hamburgers more. But, I think we can find a place that sells both. It's a thank you, for putting up with me and my terrible drawing skills."

Poor boy, he looked at him with that same wonder and nodded rapidly, gathering his stuff and taking his hand again, tiny hand gripping as tight as he could, like he was afraid to let go and see this was not real. As they walked down the street, Castiel kept a lookout because the last thing he needed was someone to think he kidnapped the child. School ended at two thirty, he would take him back before then, but he would like to show him some kindness before since he seemed to severely lack it in his life.

"Castiel?"

"Yes?"

"Why is some of your hair blue?"

"Well, I used some stuff called bleach to make my hair blonde. Then I used some other stuff called dye to make it blue."

"Is it like that forever?"

"No. It fades with time, so I have to use dye to keep it like this. I could change colours, if I wanted, but I like blue the best."

"Oh. Okay."

As they entered a decent looking diner and sat down, Samandriel across from him, menus set down by a waitress, he asked again.

"Castiel?"

"Yes?"

"Did those hurt?"

The boy was pointing to his own nose, then his mouth and eyebrows, eyes wide in anticipation.

"Not too much, no. This one here," he opened his mouth wide enough to stick out his tongue, showing off the barbell, the boy gasping in surprise at the new one, "was my first one. That one felt like a kind of hard pinch. And I got to eat a lot of ice cream after to make it feel better. These two here felt the same, but kind of itchy at the same time. My nose, I wanted to sneeze more than anything. And my eyebrows, they were just a little bit of work and staying really still. I think it depends on the person."

"So, it would hurt me?"

"If you decided to ever get any, I think you'd be a strong one, it wouldn't hurt you too much. Just itch and be a little sore. But, you always have to take care of them and keep them clean."

Samandriel nodded solemnly, "I will." And now the waitress was coming back to ask them what they wanted, the ATC allowing the boy to go first.

"A chicken sandwich and orange soda, please!"

"A hamburger and a coke, thank you."

She scribbled it down and grinned at Castiel.

"Your son is so polite! He's cute, has your eyes."

He saw Samandriel tense and look at him, eyes filled with fear that he might say he was not his father and give away the whole thing. Except, he gave a smile and nodded.

"Thank you, that's kind of you to say."

She was off and the boy was biting his trembling lip, hands beginning to lift up and shaking already, tears building up.

"Samandriel, what's wrong?"

"I-I'm sorry! I'm not… I know I'm not… I'm not supposed to… to cry, b-but…!"

_Don't cry, Castiel. Boys don't cry._

The sharp pain in his head had him wince–a mission, he had a mission, this was not it, but he had until three–before shaking it off and reaching out both hands, palms up and fingers wiggling to grab his attention, succeeding in doing so.

"Samandriel. What I'm about to tell you is very important. You don't have to say sorry. _Never_ say sorry for this. If you're sad, happy, angry, anything and you want to cry, you can cry. It's your body, your choice, no one can take that from you."

Sniffling and rubbing at his eyes and nose, the boy nodded and hiccuped, "O-okay." He wiggled his fingers, too, letting them tap the man's palms and smiling back. And then, "Castiel?"

"Yes?"

"Can you tell me more about planes?"

"Of course."

They talked, they ate and Castiel ordered the boy a sundae after checking he was not allergic to any of the ingredients, this may as well be a full meal for him, seemed like he hardly got this at home. After, they made their way back to the school, having managed to stay in that diner long enough that the walk back got them there just in time. To be safe, the ATC was going to leave him there, other kids has gotten out, though he clutched on so tightly and looked at him with these sad, big eyes he ended up staying–the boy did not really have any positive adult in his life, he could tell, he should give him something as long as he could, leave him with a positive memory of how adults can be–sitting with him on the grass and ignoring the stares he got.

"Why are they staring, Castiel?"

"My hair and piercings are different, people stare when things are different. It doesn't bother me. It would bother me a lot more if they stared at me because I pretended I was like everyone else, pretended I wasn't me."

Samandriel had that same look of awe before he pulled out his notebook and tore out one of the pages as careful as he could, handing it over.

"Here. It's my favourite."

It was the park. And now Samandriel looked sad again, it made his heart clench and all he was meant to do was wait until three, he never anticipated this. But, he knew that look, he used to see it whenever he looked in the mirror, he knew that no child should feel that way and his mission was priority, it was, yet if he was going to get rid of that stain, he should try and clean up what those like him did. So now that he was here, he made a choice.

"May I see a piece of paper and pencil?"

Once given them, he wrote down what he needed to and handed it over.

"This is my number right now. If you need or want anything, _anything at all,_ call me. This one here, this one is Dean's, he's my sun and stars, my special, dear one. If I don't answer, you call him and tell him Castiel told you to, okay?"

"Okay."

"Hey, Samandy!"

Samandriel looked up, stuffing the paper away and another boy was approaching them, a teenager. Castiel looked him over, already catching something off just by the looks of him, sniffing once he was at arm's length and standing up with the boy.

"Hi, Gabriel."

"Who's your pal here?"

"School aide. I filled in temporarily."

That was a lie, of course, meant to spare Samandriel any distress about how to explain how they knew each other.

"Don't see one of those nifty vests on you."

"I like to bend the rules."

The teen continued chewing what he found to be bubble gum, blowing a bubble and popping it noisily. They stared each other down and this was a little ridiculous, the only reason he did so was because this gave him longer to examine him when he finally gave a shrug.

"Whatever. Let's go, kiddo, pop's a-waiting."

"Okay."

Samandriel squirmed a little and then jumped to give him a hug he returned. Then he started walking away, though Castiel took hold of the teenager's bag before he got out of range.

"Gabriel, was it?"

"Yeah, what?"

"I suggest you not smoke so close to the end of the school day, you'll only have more people on your back and your brother questioning you that I imagine you're trying to keep in the dark. And it doesn't smell like the quality kind. If you're going to do it, at least do it right. And stick with just that, the rest is complete bullshit."

Gabriel arched a brow at him before grinning.

"Hell of a school aide, man. I'll keep that in mind."

He watched him catch up with Samandriel and flared his nostrils, trying to get out that smell, the one from years ago that used to cling to him as he hung out behind the bleachers, rolling blunts and lighting them up.

No matter, no reason to stay any longer, he had a mission to complete and somewhere to be.

Though, he did stop by his temporary place to drop off the drawing.

\---

"What do you mean, 'she can't find him?'"

"Exactly what I said, man. Charlie's hacked into the cameras but hasn't found any trace of him. It's not like this place is very small, either. She's trying to track Bartholomew, see if he's around him."

This whole thing was taking too damn long and if there was any time that Jimmy wished that he could just telepathically talk to his brother or locate him, anything, it was now. It was closing in to the end of four in the afternoon, this was a whole waste of a day. His only saving grace was that he had not heard about some horrific crime on the news that he was keeping track of just in case.

Nothing yet, just some talk about some crashes, protests, things that were generally upsetting because this felt like a repeat of 2015, which kind of felt like a repeat of 2010, and it seemed they were doomed to repeat every five years because 2020 was the same as always. He would think there might be a little more progress.

Humanity was so odd sometimes.

Or maybe it was simply society.

Whatever it was, Jimmy stopped paying attention when heard Dean's phone started ringing and the man answered, only privy to one side of the conversation, unlike Dean.

"Hey, Dean."

"Hey, kiddo."

"So, I haven't had any luck with Cas just yet. But! I did find out something that I think you should know."

"What is it?"

"Uhm, well, you know how Cas is trying to, you know, apparently off the guy? You guys really need to find him, like _pronto,_ and convince him not to. More than you already need to now because, uh…"

She seemed to be stalling and Dean frowned because she stalled like this whenever something horrible happened or when she was nervous about delivering news she thought someone might not handle well.

"Charlie, what is it?"

"Well, ah… I looked into Bartholomew a little more, legal papers, family, things like that and it turns out he's widowed and, uh…"

Holy shit.

He was already putting two and two together and this was a freaking curveball, fuck.

"Castiel and Jimmy, they have two younger brothers."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a nightmare he had. Songs can always be spun in such an interesting way. I was taught that song in elementary school, showed us body parts and all, so it seemed fitting to use. 
> 
> And, I wanted to make a point with this chapter that even though Castiel is doing some pretty questionable stuff and his thought process was pretty ruthless last chapter and will continue to be so for some time, he's not impervious to everything, not completely unfeeling. Ergo, how he shifts so easily into a manner of interacting with Samandriel that makes him feel comfortable and safe because he knows what it's like to be afraid and not taken seriously by adults at that age. He can see himself in Samandriel and he wants to help. He wants to get rid of Bartholomew for lots of reasons and one of them is he thinks it'll help everyone in the long run. So, not exactly the ideal approach for some things he's doing, but well, it's never quite the ideal way when Crowley is involved. 
> 
> Also, obvious already, I think, who the younger brothers are. Or I could just throw it all for a loop, who knows, haha. 
> 
> Random other notes. How Castiel describes how the piercing process felt, I can't say I based them all on experience, I don't have all the ones he does, though I think it'd be fun. And, new tattoo mentioned, I thought it'd be nice to put out there. It is based on something I saw, it was interesting and who knows, I'll probably write a short fic about when he got it and everything. I also thought it'd be a nice hint at how Castiel is still there, thus his feeling the tattoo and why it's so meaningful that he does that.
> 
> It's also something I probably should point out that this story is in the future, 2020, like Jimmy mentions, since It Takes Two was set in the beginning of 2015, almost right after Dean's birthday since he tells Castiel he's thirty-two and Castiel tells him towards the end of the story that they just missed the ice-rink but he'll take him his next birthday. It wasn't explicitly stated, though Castiel does watch a news report on measles before finding out why Dean was on the run, which did come pop up quite a bit then. Probably still does now. But, little clues, here and there. However, the way things are going in the U.S. and other countries, I don't have as much hope as I'd like that it'll improve much. Most likely just have somewhat fancier computers and the iPhone 9 and Galaxy 8 and some new cars that have voice command or something.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are two thoughts that are prioritised with Castiel. One is, of course, getting rid of this stain. The second is keeping those he loves at a safe distance. When the second thought is compromised, it turns out that adaptation to the situation is a very hurtful thing, for everyone involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter came out sooner than I thought. Pretty cool, I suppose, I think it might still have a lot of typos and such. I'm trying to make it so that this and Silent Film Star have the same amount of chapters, so it'll balance out. We'll see how it goes. I don't think there are any warnings to give out for this chapter. 
> 
> Enjoy! :D

"You're serious? No way this is like some scam he's trying to pull?"

"It's legit, I checked. Their names are Samandriel and Gabriel Thorne, six and sixteen years old. I found their school records and everything. Samandriel goes to Baileywick Road Elementary, Gabriel goes to Ravenscroft, some fancy sounding tuition-based school."

As Charlie told him what she learnt about the two, Dean could only stare at Jimmy, who was staring right back in confusion, unaware as to why he looked so damn stunned about a phone call. It was not about where Castiel was, he could tell that much, he would be packing their few things if it was, the same way he could tell that it did relate somehow to all of this. Bartholomew, specifically, if they were talking about some scam he was possibly trying to pull.

"Okay. Yeah. … No, I'll tell him. Bye."

The call was over and Dean had tossed his phone on the bed, already making his way over to take a chair and sit across from him. Okay, he knew that expression, that was his, "I know something big, so just listen, don't talk yet or else I won't get it out," face, so he turned off the television and faced him, waiting for him to start.

If only it were that easy, he might do it. But, with the loss of their mother, finding out Bartholomew was a dick, he could not say how Jimmy might handle this. Maybe good? Maybe he would be happy to know he has more family out there, half-brothers, yeah, but family nonetheless, right? If he got it out quick, maybe that would help.

"So Charlie found out more about Bartholomew, like, he used to be married, wife's dead. And… and it turns out…"

Fuck, just get it out, Dean.

"You have two younger brothers."

Silence.

Sitting a few feet away, there was no way he did not hear him, no possible way and now that he looked, Jimmy was gazing at him, eyes narrowed slightly and nose scrunched up a little. He was probably letting it sink in, maybe put it all together, because it was sort of a slap in the face with information, Dean would not know what to do if someone came up to him and told him his dad had another kid, most likely deny it because… well, because.

Thing was, Jimmy was doing none of that and now he had this really far off expression, freaking miles away and he would really take any kind of reaction right now, like his hands moving or something, anything. Finally, fucking finally, he blinked and whoa, out of all things he might show, this determination was not expected.

"What're their names?"

"Samandriel and Gabriel."

"How old? Do you know where they live? Where they go to school? Anything?"

The man was up and moving around at record speed, taking the small duffel they bought earlier that morning to put everything in it and what the fuck? Given he had raged when finding out about Bartholomew and Castiel's response to their mother passing, he really was waiting for some other type of reaction, maybe disbelief or rejecting the possibility.

Kind of better than he would have taken it, honestly.

"Six and sixteen, they go to Baileywick and Ravenscroft. The address Charlie found is old. Dude, hold on a minute. What's up?"

He was up and trying to catch his attention, Jimmy already having put away everything and on his phone typing in the names he gave to determine how far they might be from the motel.

"Baileywick is only about twenty-five minutes away. If we go now, we might still be able to see someone in the office, we can ask about Samandriel."

Before the man could blow right by him, he held onto his arm, effectively stopping him.

"Can you stop for a second and tell me what's going on?"

The man was looking at him with some sense of exasperation and like he was questioning his intelligence or some shitty thing like that for not already figuring it out.

"I'm a father, Dean. Claire is my life, I would do anything for her, I love her with all my soul. Bartholomew? If he's the same as before, or worse, can you imagine what those boys are being put through and without a mother to turn to? Those boys who are my family, who are innocent? And can you imagine how Castiel might possibly react if he finds out that bastard's doing to them what he went through? Can you imagine what I think, as a father, as being the brother of someone who dealt with that?"

… Oh.

Shit, he was stuck on the fact that they had brothers, how big that news was, he failed to think beyond that in the moment, about the likelihood that Bartholomew had never changed and yeah, losing a wife could turn someone into an even bigger dick if they had a crappy personality already. He fished out his keys and they were both in the Impala in no time, Jimmy telling him what streets to take and they were at the school in no time.

A decent looking school, it had been awhile since he was at an elementary school and he shuddered a little when he recalled that nightmare. Freaking elementary school song. Whatever, he was walking down the halls with the other, both trying to navigate their way to the main office and finding it after about five minutes of wandering around. A young blonde woman looked up from the papers on her desk when they entered, looking them up and down before leaning forward.

"May I help you?"

Dean looked at Jimmy, a little lost on what to do because this was not his plan. Hell, he was not even sure if the man had a plan. Clearly, he had something of one because he was already reaching for his wallet.

"Hi. I'm James Novak, Samandriel Thorne's older brother. I just arrived from Illinois, I'm visiting for a birthday party, it's really important to him. I saw you have a volunteer programme for his class and I want to surprise him, so I was wondering if I could sign up temporarily, while I'm here."

The mechanic was a bit surprised at how easily Jimmy fell right into the role of being his big brother and how he might as well have been a literal ball of sunshine when talking to this chick. Said chick fell hook, line and sinker for it, smiling at this apparent adorable gesture and telling them, "I'll need an ID before I tell you his classroom," which Jimmy was already handing over to her.

As soon as she was satisfied, she typed in something on the computer at the counter, his file coming up and the little boy that looked back at them looked scared, eyes wide and almost about ready to cry, not understanding why he needed to stay still. It was a really depressing sight and she was saying something else that Jimmy answered then he was grabbing his upper arm and dragging him out.

"I know where he lives."

"What?"

"Bartholomew. Charlie found his old address, didn't she? That's what you said. I found the updated one."

They were not heading down to the exit, they were going the complete opposite way.

"Then, shouldn't we be going to check it out?"

"After I sign up. I said I would."

Leave it to Jimmy to not be capable of lying about what he was doing. And, it made sense, he supposed, his whole talk about how that dick might be a bigger dick, he would want to check on him. The teacher they faced was an older woman, maybe in her sixties or so and he wondered why she was still here when class was over almost two hours ago.

"Oh, hello there!"

Sweet looking and sounding lady so far.

"Hello, Mrs. Graham."

And Jimmy went to introduce himself again, tell her why they were there–he introduced Dean as his brother-in-law that also wanted to volunteer–and they fit into her schedule for tomorrow, since there was no one else coming and before they left, she inquired something that concerned him more than a little.

"How is little Samandriel? He was absent today."

Absent?

The other took that in stride, "He's well, just a bad stomachache, I'm afraid he ate dinner too late."

"Oh, dear. I hope he's feeling better now."

"He is, thank you. We'll see you tomorrow."

As they walked out of the classroom, then the school, Dean let out a whistle.

"Didn't know you could work the system like that."

"Ames and I have dealt with our fair share of half-witted school faculty, this was nothing."

Well, alright then.

"How about we see if Cas is around his place then?"

If not, then at least they were one step ahead.

And, he really felt the need to check if the little boy was okay.

\---

One button.

Zipper up.

And spit in the bin.

"You didn't say this would be a frequent happening, this was only meant to complete the transaction."

Castiel bent over to grab a water bottle from the mini-fridge, not keen on the idea of the taste lingering in his mouth and drinking half the bottle in one go before debating on some gum or a smoke. He settled on gum after this was done, keeping his back turned until he heard the other make himself presentable and made his way back.

"I didn't hear you complaining, love."

That used to be his job, a necessity. If someone paid him what was settled on, he would give them what they wanted and be as into it as they needed, make it a good time so they would come back, pay, and the cycle went on. So, yes, he followed along with the request of another blowjob and get himself off at the same time, but there was nothing to it but receiving a payment in the end, it would make completing his task that much easier.

And, it helped, he supposed, those years of it being his job, he was remarkably skilled at faking without being caught. Being caught only led to unnecessary trouble, it was meant to be a skill perfected.

"I don't believe that's the point."

"You have someone else, is that it?"

"No."

The lie came easily, too, because that was necessary as well. This was something he was doing alone, it had to remain that way, his mission, his consequences, that was it. There was the urge to touch his left wrist when he said it. Of course, that would give it away and he settled on allowing his hands to glide over the man's shoulders, rubbing lightly and standing behind him as he looked at the papers they were discussing before this.

"Is that enough? Or did you need me to stay when you bring them in?"

Another extra and a bigger payment, what a simple process.

"Stay, why don't you? I'll call them in now."

"As you wish."

This was how Castiel found himself casually draped over a chair next to Crowley, legs over one armrest and positioned just right so if he stretched out his neck, he could still reach the man to kiss his jaw. It was important, one might not see right away though eventually, to be in a position of power without quite seeming so, with appearing vulnerable and below the one power is placed with. Besides, he thought as he lit up a cigarette–gum could wait–Crowley seemed like a smart man, incredibly so. Perhaps they were both already simply filling in a role, just a game, none of this was real.

In any case, as long as he got what he needed, he could not care less.

When the first group came in of his dealers so far, Castiel straightened up a little as he recognised two of them, hand with his cancer stick gesturing to them.

"You two. Hello again. I didn't think we'd meet again so soon, but I'm very glad we have. You," he flicked his cigarette in the direction of male number two, "How is your wrist? Was I correct, did I not damage anything too much?" Castiel made a soft, pleased noise when he nodded, "Good. That's good. Oh, here. I should compensate you for what I took, I'm afraid I threw it out."

Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a fifty from his wallet and waved it at him, prompting him over, "Come. I won't put this out on you, you've been very cooperative so far. I think this should be more than enough." When he took it and went back, he took a long drag and released the smoke steadily, "I'm sure you and your friend are very pleasant people. I'm afraid you're just not good enough to stay. Shame, I know, but that's business."

And Crowley snapped and they were taken away.

What a simple, clean process.

Castiel craned his neck back far enough so he could catch the man's eyes, finding it more habit than anything to roll the ball of his barbell along his lower lip, tongue following along and smiling languidly at him. All such a game, to get his results, and he could play any role Crowley wanted, say anything, that was how it went, and he would complete his mission.

"Who would you like to question first?"

The things done for the sake of a mission.

"How about you, on the left?"

It was interesting, how hassle free it was to fall into this role. And if his previous boss when tangled up in the world of drugs were here, it would be safe to say he would not be surprised. Alastair always thought and said that Castiel had a certain set of skills and charm when it came to things like this, it was why he did so well at such a young age and why he was so vital to his operation, why he was never meant to get out and when he did, never meant to be able to get very far. A danger, that was all he was if allowed to go to another ring and spill secrets and how it was run.

Of course, Alastair was in jail and Castiel never truly cared for the man. He was, in the end, just another means to and end. He supplied him with the drugs he felt he needed back then, gave him a job that brought in enough money to pay back what he stole from his family's college fund and then some, with extra to help out around the house, and when he was tossed out for being clean, that should have been it, they never should have associated with him again. Yet, those skills and that charm were intoxicating, whether he actively utilised them or not, and Alastair took him back.

Shame for him, now he was in jail.

So, whilst he did have potential to benefit operations such as these, he had the same potential to be fatal to them, to dismantle them without truly trying and he could do it all from this chair, smoking and asking questions, tapping off cigarette ash into an ashtray and giving two flicks of his cancer stick when the answer was not sufficient.

Then, of course, Crowley knew this. No ordinary person could break apart two different operations and say they were merely a part of it. No, this man was a vital part of both of those, there was no way it could have been done without him. The difference between then and now, perhaps the only difference and the most important one, was that a very crucial part of him was simply… _gone._

Maybe some people might call it his soul, others might call it his humanity, others might call it his morality. Crowley could not care less what it was called, it benefited him that it was gone so why look a gift horse in the mouth? The moment he walked in through those doors and spoke, so flat, with a lack of that normal spark people had in their eyes when they came begging him for help, it was not difficult to see that this was an opportunity. Make a deal, get some more out of it, and give him what he wanted.

Yes, he might not get his loyalty to the bitter end, he doubt anyone would get that from him, only himself, but he would strengthen his hold and no doubt Castiel would be killed or arrested. And then possibly killed. Or kill himself. Either way, he would be disposed of, which seemed to not bother him in the least.

Win-win.

By the time this was done, two stubs were snuffed out in the ashtray and Castiel was almost done chewing this gum into tastelessness, only lingering hints of mint remaining. His fingers drummed against his knees as the room emptied itself besides the two guards he met just last night and he had already managed to win over–his skills, after all, were the best of all Alastair had at his disposal–and Crowley.

"If that's all you required my services for…"

"I'm a man of my word. Take him to the house, let him see where he'll need to go and provide him with what he asks for. He'll be busy tomorrow, after all."

Getting up from his seat, he smoothed out his clothes before leaning down to kiss the other, nothing too serious.

A pleasantry, fit the role to the very end.

"Thank you for a good time. I'd say let's do it again sometime, but we both know that's not possible."

And he spun on his heel and walked right out, followed by the two guards.

What a shame, he was amazing with his mouth.

Oh well.

\---

"You know, I don't think they're coming out any time soon.

It was already kind of late when they swung on by, it was creeping in on eight at night now and not that they were stalking or anything, but he would really hate to be reported as a stalker. His baby was more than obvious on this street, even if as far away from the streetlights as possible and still remaining in view of the house. Not a super grand house, a two story, yeah, but still looking pretty quaint and shit.

"It's not a matter of them coming out. I just… keeping watch is important."

Jimmy had moved to the backseat in order to not have to lean over him to see, not tearing his eyes away from the house unless other cars were passing by. His hands were fiddling with his phone the whole time and Dean questioned if the magnitude of finding out he had two younger brothers was getting to him. He would have to tell Amelia, no doubt, and Claire. And then what? Doubtful that he would just see them, go up to them and say, "Hey there! I'm you're older brother," then leave them with that dick.

This whole thing was one big mess.

Keeping watch, perhaps it was relieving some of those concerns of his. Because, the sad fact was that these were his half-brothers, that dick was their father, he could not barge in and take them, not without a fight or some proof that their living conditions sucked. And, if they walked right up the door and knocked politely, they would probably be booted out, too.

At least Castiel had not showed up yet, they had that.

They had that for maybe about thirty more minutes and then an SUV was rolling up on the other side of the street, the mechanic eyeing it suspiciously from the start. He had enough of black cars and shit five years ago, he could not count the amount of times he saw one and something terrible followed right after. Tapping Jimmy to catch his attention, he motioned to it and now they were both watching it, waiting for something to happen.

Maybe it would try and hit them, Dean had his hand on the keys already in case, or some goons would come out and they would realise that dick was part of some illegal operation and they could get the two kids away from him.

None of that happened.

Fifteen minutes passed, just staring, until the backdoor finally opened and someone stepped out, the front doors opening soon after. They were not directly under the streetlight, making it impossible to tell who these people were, though the one that came out first flicked a lighter on and Dean had a horrible, sinking feeling in his stomach and fuck, this was not a dream, but he felt like he could do nothing but look on right now.

"No…"

No, fuck no, all of this was spelling out something terrible. Those shifty SUV's were one thing, the two in the front were another and he really wished he was overreacting when he saw that damn lighter but in the few times that he saw him light up a cigarette, it was always the same way, different from the generic way others did it.

He wished he was overreacting, but then they moved within range of the light and there he was, Castiel was walking with these two other guys like it was an everyday thing.

Who the fuck did Castiel get involved with now?

Jimmy had a better reaction time than him, probably because Jimmy did not have the same nightmare he did and was suddenly hit with a fucking wave of terror that his nightmare might not be so far fetched. Though, when he smacked his arm with a rushed, "Come on," the mechanic snapped out of it and got out of the car with him, more for the sake of not wanting it to come true.

"Jimmy, wait! We can't-!"

Well, now it was too late, they were seen and the two guys had guns out, a pretty good incentive to stay in the middle of the street, eyes wide and breaths held.

So much for going right up to him.

Castiel had set his hands on the men's shoulders, coaxing them to part so as to see who it was they had caught coming at them. As soon as he did see them, Dean noticed how he faltered, how the recognition crossed his face, how he looked surprised and even a tad scared that they were there.

_"Dean…"_

His voice was nothing like in his dream, not cold and angry, it was the Castiel he knew and then it was gone, he blinked and _oh God,_ it was like his nightmare, those fucking eyes and queer little smile.

"You shouldn't have come, you know. It's quite dangerous, I think. And you know what happens when things are dangerous, Dean."

"We're not leaving here without you, Cas."

"I think you are, actually. I haven't finished here yet and you're only a hindrance, an extra I can do without. Extras are so troublesome, they interfere with the mission. Don't you think? Also, I don't think you'll need to ask what that mission is. You wouldn't be here, if you didn't know. You stall for time, I know. That usually works with others, doesn't it? Shame that I know you, so it won't. It's not going to change my mind."

He watched as the ATC took a drag of his cigarette and spared Jimmy a look, to see if he knew how the hell to handle this. Given how wide his eyes were and how shocked he looked at how his brother was acting, Dean was going to guess this was not in his usual "I'm pissed and don't know how to handle it," repertoire. Okay, then he would have to do something, anything, before the man turned away and would no longer give them the time of day.

"It takes us two!"

Could have been a little more eloquent and not practically vomited out the words, although it did cause the other to pause, head tilting.

"You-you said that. It take us two, always. When I was on the run from Azazel and Lilith, you could've left with your family, left me. Hell, anyone else would've, I handcuffed you to me after crashing into you without giving you a say in the matter. You had the chance to leave and you stayed with me instead and told me that. And when I was caught, you let yourself be caught, too. Fuck, you let them _break your fingers,_ Cas! You did that because you believed it would take both of us. Because you believed in helping me."

The words seemed to be getting through, there was less of that creepy nightmare-ish Castiel look and more of the Castiel he knew, the other slowly sliding his hands down the men's arms, who followed along in lowering their guns at the same pace.

"You moved to Lawrence because you said it would be us two, always, that you would always choose us. I know you want to do this and that's okay, alright? I agree, he's had it coming for a long time," maybe not killing him in cold blood, without trials and crap, but he was trying for something here, "And when I was in something like this, you were there for me. So, I can be there for you. This isn't… we can fix this, Cas. Because _I am yours and you are mine."_

That last bit hit hard, the man actually flinched at that and there it was, whatever he was trying to keep up cracked and there was Castiel, longer than a goddamn second and he looked so conflicted on what he was to do next. His eyes flitted from him, to his brother, then the houses and then he looked back at him, expression filled with… pity?

"Oh, you _believe_ that, don't you?"

"… What?"

"It's okay. I thought so, too. Then I blew someone else."

_… What?_

Dean heard a sharp inhale beside him from–Jimmy, he realised belatedly–and that was not even on the list of things of import right now. What was of import was how Castiel was walking up to him so nonchalantly, flicking his cigarette off to the side and cupping his cheeks, smiling in a way that brought back that fucking chill.

Could not be real, not real, this was a nightmare, a fucking catastrophe of a nightmare, that was what it was, just another one from the lingering pieces of the one he had last night, he was probably asleep in the Impala, it was getting a little boring just staring at the house.

"It's okay, Dean. I really did believe that. You made me happy. _So happy,_ you are so nice, so great," and he kissed him lightly, "But, then I blew someone. And I let him fuck me. I think he enjoyed it. Wouldn't you say so, Guthrie?"

"I would say so, sir."

Azures moved back to him and he loved looking into Castiel's eyes, he could freaking drown in them and that would be a happy and awesome death. Yet, now, they were not as bright, they were like horrible murky, polluted pools and the worst thing was that he was not letting him help, he was not talking to him like he said he would, he was saying all these terrible things that tore into him like he was made of flimsy paper and Dean had no clue what to think.

Not Castiel, that was one. How could this be Castiel? A nightmare, that had to be it.

Just a nightmare…

Right?

"Such a nice, great guy, _all mine._ You were. And I was yours. My sun and stars, _my special, dear one…"_

Another kiss and it hurt, it hurt so much, how the hell could a fucking kiss meant to be so loving and caring and so much more hurt this much, ranking up there when his mom died, when he found out what Sam was doing, when his dad died, how could it be like this?

Castiel pulled away, thumbs caressing his cheeks before releasing him altogether.

"You should leave now, there's nothing left for you here. Take care of Jimmy."

There he went, walking back and making a gesture for the men to follow him. That was it, he was leaving and the mechanic only stared because everything _**hurt.**_

"Don't do this, brother!"

Jimmy stepped forward, acutely aware of the guns still present and how destructive they were. But, that painful heartbreaking look Dean wore was _wrong,_ everything Castiel said and did was _wrong,_ that was _not Castiel._ He knew his brother, he knew him better than anyone else, could read every single move he made and this was not him, this was not him at all.

He was falling. He was falling again and he was falling fast, his brother was lost, that was it. Lost in the memories of what once was, what happened to him at the hands of that bastard, the hatred he harboured for him, the devastation of their mother's passing, trying to rationalise the fact she was gone and why, it had mutated into this horrific being that may have his brother's body, it may sound like him and it could try for eternity, it would never fool him.

"I know what he did to you!"

Castiel turned toward him, eyes narrowed.

"I know and I'm sorry. I'm sorry, _I'm so sorry._ You didn't deserve that, no one does. I'm so sorry for not figuring it out sooner, Castiel. I hate it, I hate knowing you were suffering and that bastard would pretend like he wasn't the goddamn scum of the earth. But this isn't the way, this isn't right. Please, you know this _isn't_ what mother would want."

To the ends of the earth, every single time.

Even if his brother did not want it.

"Mother is dead, James. I have to do this and I do not need you."

Even if it meant he had to be harsh.

"You kill him, you're going to do it in front of our brothers! Is that how you want them to meet you, no better than him?"

This was news to him, with how he had stiffened in the middle of turning away to go back to the SUV, and that might have been what he was banking on, holding his breath because this could either go very well or very, very bad.

"Go back to Pontiac, you don't belong here."

And it was very, _very_ bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, they finally all met up. Not a very happy reunion, obviously, but they all kind of know where they stand. 
> 
> It's probably just because I write the story and know, more or less, what's happening and going through their heads that it's evident to me Castiel's deliberately saying things to push away but can't really do it wholeheartedly and has difficulty showing it through actions the way he did with those dealers. Maybe it's evident in my writing? I hope, at least, and Castiel doesn't just seem like a heartless walnut or something. Dean's going to have some trouble trying to figure things out and thankfully, Jimmy is there to help him out any way he can.
> 
> And, I haven't volunteered at a school in awhile now, not since my little sister was in 1st and she's going to enter 8th now, so it might be a little more effort in confirming who one is, more of a process, but for the sake of the story, let's say it was still that easy now. I had to look up schools in Raleigh to see where they should go and Ravenscroft seems terribly expensive, more than one of the schools in my area. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed Jimmy's reaction to being told he has little brothers. I think, along with how he seemed like a sweet guy in the very little screen time he had, adding in that he's a father and now knows how Bartholomew is, his first response would be needing to look out for them and protect them however he can. I just really love Jimmy, he was adorable, I wish they had him pop around more often before he got blown to bits and went to Heaven.
> 
> I did make it in this story that Dean doesn't know about Adam because I kind of don't know how it would come up in this AU. Adam's mother wouldn't have been snatched by ghouls, neither would he, it's all sort of all over the place. 
> 
> I realise I put quite a few references to the last story in this one, I hope they make sense if you haven't read that one;;


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything starts falling apart and it ends up being a sort of race to figure out how to keep it all together. Castiel, unfortunately, finds this is not a task he can undertake himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, another chapter and I've finally caught up with Silent Film Star, that's exciting. 
> 
> I don't believe there are any warnings to put here.
> 
> Enjoy! :D

Castiel often found himself lost, faced with the typical fork in the road scenario and no map to tell him which way was the right way. And, without fail, the accumulation of all these intense emotions he did not understand skewed his perception of what was the rational choice.

Or rather, they were emotions he could not understand even if he tried his best to do so, trying to convey them properly never worked out well for him due to that. Maybe he thought he was, but then they had to go back to that whole skewed perception concept and it was all kind of an endless cycle.

At the heart of this cycle, Jimmy strongly believed now, was the man that was residing in this house within a laughably tempting walking distance. Because if Bartholomew had never been so abusive towards him, Castiel might never have suppressed his emotions and thoughts in the first place at such a young age, which in turn would have made it easier for him growing up rather than being so repulsed by adults–well, he relented they were pretty nasty adults, some of them–besides their mother and lashing out all the time, then he might not have ditched as often and ended up turning to things to suppress even further, not done drugs, had a normal teenage life, known what the hell was what and how to deal with it instead of a quick fix solution of another pill and it kind of went along until they got to this point.

So, yeah, he blamed the bastard.

And he really, really wanted let him know that, he wanted to go now and if he went then he would grab him and just-

Not go down that road.

He was not going down that road, especially when he barely told Castiel that was not what mother would want because it was not, she always did her best to help them control their anger and acknowledge what they felt in a healthy manner. He was not angry–that was a lie, he was, but he should manage it–and he was here, on this street with Dean.

Dean, who needed help right now.

Tearing his eyes away from the house, well aware that Castiel was gone now, he moved to stand in front of the mechanic and took his wrists with the upmost gentleness he could muster up because he knew that was not Castiel, not really, though he was uncertain if Dean did.

"Dean? Dean, hey. Listen to me. That wasn't Cas, okay? And you know it wasn't. He isn't like that and you know it."

Dean finally looked at him and of course it was not going to be easy convincing him, everything that Castiel had said was chosen exactly so, to get this reaction from him because he knew Dean, what words would cut the deepest and how to say them, what to do when as he did. That ruthless cruelty was not something he saw often, but he was aware that his brother was smart enough to use it–hell, so was he if need be, not that he liked doing it–that he was far more than capable of incapacitating someone in ways besides physically due to the fact that it was cleaner, more effective and it was something they could control, not risk just losing it and seriously injuring someone. And he had been on the receiving end more than once, back when Castiel was weaning himself off the drugs, to the point where it actually did latch onto him and he was riddled with guilt for so long, he had no idea how he would have been if Amelia was not there for him.

It was strategic, efficient, just a tactic they had in their arsenal and he knew when and why they used it.

"Actually, I think he is."

Dean did not.

How flat his response was, how he tried and failed to hide the hurt from him left Jimmy at a loss of what to do. If he kept pushing, he would pull away and he was already pulling away his hands from him refusing to meet his eyes and telling him, "Hurry up, we're leaving." He followed him, got in the Impala and was waiting for him to say screw it, simply head back home. Whether that was to Kansas or Illinois, who knew, all he knew was that he would have to speak up before they got out of Raleigh.

Jimmy was not a cruel man, or he liked to believe he was not. By the same token, he liked to believe that he was a kind man. However, right now he was a kind man that had no real starting point to go off of and that was the most useful result for the one who used it and also most annoying part of this tactic if on the receiving end. Where the hell did he even begin? The part where Castiel said he laid with another, where he spat back their whole goddamn relationship, how he still showed affection which was not so much a part of the tactic but more showing he just could not do that to Dean?

He started with, "Dean," and was immediately cut off.

"Shut up."

Well, damn, he did not even know what he was going to say. What if he was going to say Castiel was an assbutt for saying that? Or some equally "on his side" type of thing. The mechanic was going to bend his steering wheel out of shape if he held on any tighter and this was such a horrible thing to see in effect. Albeit reluctantly, he could admit to knowing how to do the same, messing with a person's head and getting them to leave him alone, he even used it a few times. It was always on people who he ended up never speaking to again, that were only there to cause problems, sometimes massive problems, so he never had to think how to possibly undo what he caused.

That would really help right now.

At least, they were not leaving the city, Dean parked somewhere now and when he noticed where it was, the words spilt out.

"I don't think-"

"I said shut up. I don't want to hear it."

Any other time, any other damn time, Jimmy would have put a stop to it then and there, forced him to sit right down and straighten him out. This time, he sighed and exited the car along with him, following into the bar.

God help him.

\---

_"… Stop, breathe and calm down, find a quiet place to go…"_

Nails digging into the back of his head, Castiel pressed his forehead harder into his knees down, down, down until it hurt and then he smacked his head over and over to hurt more, stop hurting everything else, stop making his thoughts go everywhere, stop making it hard, stop trying to confuse him, he had a mission, this mission was everything, no time for connections, for emotions like that, he had a mission.

_You could be my sun and stars, I could be the moon of your life._

Stop it, stop it, stop it, if it hurt enough, it would go away, if he focused, it would go away, the hurt in his heart would go to his head, he was not bad, he was good, he was not a bad person, he was doing what was right, if it hurt enough, it would go away, he would be able to focus on what was important, his mission.

_You are mine and I am yours, that is what matter to me, nothing else._

Not that, not that at all, that had to be not important, no emotions, no connections, they were dangerous right now, messing with his head, distracting him, Dean should have stayed away, kept Jimmy away, promised to protect him, stop trying to get into his head, stop it, a mission, he had a mission.

_I promise I'll protect you. Always._

This was right, he knew this was right, this was his task and his alone, he was good, he knew he was good, he was supposed to get rid of this stain, this stain had done all of this, it was all his fault, he ruined everything, destroyed everything from the start so just stop trying to change his mind, he was meant to be gone, nothing needed to be fixed besides his no longer being there, Dean was wrong, nothing had to be fixed but this, so stop it, he had a mission.

_Mother is dead._

_You're shameful, Castiel._

_Your mother was a wonderful woman._

_This is why you fail._

Gurgled, wheezing noise the only thing that was making it out of his mouth, this hurt, it was trying to tear apart his brain, rip into his heart and he continued hitting his head against his knees, nails digging in, if it hurt enough, this would go away, he was good, he was not a failure, he could do this, why did he always think he would fail, why not listen, that stain was a bad man, he was _mean,_ he was _stupid,_ he was _bad_ and had to go away, he was not the bad person, that stain was, he was very bad and a bad person like him had to go, it was his mission.

Stop, breathe and calm down.

Stop, breathe and calm-

_**Mother is dead.** _

Stop, breathe and-

_You kill him, you're going to do it in front of our brothers!_

Stop, breathe-

_**This is why you fail.** _

Stop-

"Sir, do you require anything?"

Breathe and he had a mission, he could not fail. He had a mission to complete, he would not fail. He had to be quick, efficient, calculating, complete the mission, get rid of him, it would improve the quality of life for anyone who had ever been exposed to him, the mission had to be a success, not a failure, this was something he could do, stop letting things bother him, things that meant nothing to the mission, they had to mean nothing, it was the right thing to do.

Simple, clean process.

It was a sacrifice, everyone made sacrifices for the sake of betterment and he was keeping them away, keeping them at a distance, it had to be done, it was always a possibility, cutting them off, it was a necessity, to keep blood off their hands, keep them undamaged by this, any means necessary. Take it all away, push it away, nothing mattered but his task, it was the right thing to do, to take a breath and straighten up, releasing his breath steadily, hands firmly set on his lap and smile at Guthrie by way of the rearview mirror.

"No. Just taking me to Crowley will be enough, Guthrie. Thank you. There's one last thing I need from him."

There was one detail he seemed to leave out when he told him about that stain and that was rather inconvenient. Extremely inconvenient, actually, these new factors greatly affected how he went about things. Not new factors, actually, no, that implied they were not sentient, like they were lesser and they were not, never would they be. Brothers, Jimmy said they had brothers and if that was true, he would have to adjust his plan to keep them out of it, keep them from seeing, they should be safe from that stain and not have to see what was coming, what that stain deserved, it was not something that someone should witness.

Back walking down the halls, he entered the office without preamble.

"Does Bartholomew have other children?"

"Well, he doesn't just have you and that twin brother of yours."

Castiel bit his tongue, not saying a word because if Crowley knew that he was the one of the ones behind what happened to Alastair and Azazel and Lilith, if he kept up with that, then he probably saw that news broadcast when they interviewed his brother. Or he might have looked into his family when he came to him that first day. In any case, Jimmy was safe from him, he did nothing to involve him, he cast him away, cast Dean away, because it was necessary.

"Who are they?"

They would have no part in this, Castiel would finish his task, and even if they never spoke to him again, at least that stain would not be around and a potential threat. Threats should be eliminated, purged, that was the right thing to do.

"Thought you'd have figured it out by now, I did give you some rather useful clues."

Clues…

They were younger brothers of his, what had Crowley done so far, what had he…

Baileywick Park.

He told him to go to Baileywick Park because there was something interesting around. The school was five minutes away, the elementary school, the elementary school that Samandriel came from, he ditched class, gave him a drawing.

_Your son is so polite! He's cute, has your eyes._

Eyes… the same eyes, reminded him of himself, that sad look, being put down, always put down, always told he was bad…

_I know I'm not… I'm not supposed to… to cry, b-but…!_

_**Don't cry, Castiel. Boys don't cry.** _

"Samandriel."

"Happy accident you two ran into each other, wouldn't you say?"

No, actually. That was not a happy accident, the chance of that being an accident was too unlikely, was this his plan all along, someone else's, Samandriel was his brother, that meant Gabriel was, too. Gabriel who smoked pot, Samandriel who looked so sad, who looked like him back then, and that meant…

It meant…

"I need a gun."

\---

"Dean, I think that's enough."

"Yeah, well I don't."

That was it.

Jimmy was patient with the first few shots of whiskey. He tolerated the cold shoulder he received for the past hour. He held his tongue when he finally did talk to him, it was to tell him how hot the man bartending or that one young woman was. And he was counting up to increasingly large numbers to keep himself from punching the guy in the face when he rapidly grew more intoxicated and started spewing out some not so subtle insults about his brother and his habits. He stayed with him here and he stayed quiet, let him get it out of his system, was the friend, the family he needed as he went off on tangents, but enough alcohol, enough unkind words, enough of all of this. Slapping down more than enough to cover everything Dean drank and leave a tip in the hopes of making it up to them for having a damn drunk go on and on at the bar, he left no room for protest and yanked the man out of there, waiting until they were out to talk again.

"You're out of line."

The man shoved away from him and the one good thing that came from that was that he closed his hand in time, taking a step back before he noticed and pocketing his keys. No way he was letting him keep them right now.

 _"I'm_ out of line?"

"You are. You're not listening to me and you're not thinking. Alcohol isn't going to help, especially not the copious amounts you've had."

Dean scoffed at him, "I'm not doing this," and crap, so much for him not noticing, he was hoping he might have some more time before he no longer had what he was looking for, glaring at him, "Give them to me."

"Not until you listen to me. Damn it, I know Cas said some terrible things, but you know that isn't him!"

"Yeah, and how do I know? The guy sucked off people for a lot less before, never gave a shit before." That was a little uncalled for, kind of a dick move, too, bringing up his past like that, with such malice, like he was one of those people, who looked down on his brother and others who did the same before or still did it now, never considering their stories even though they both knew why Castiel had done it, "So, why should I listen? Cas sleeps around, goes and lets someone _fuck him,_ gets paid for it. I was just another warm body and he's just a-"

Jimmy cut him off by chucking a pen at him. It was habit to carry one around in his pocket, never knew when one might need a pen to write something down, especially in the business profession and it bounced off his head and clattered uselessly, an innocent in all of this and he thanked it for its sacrifice because he could not hear that, not from Dean, do not undo everything his brother and he had created for themselves due to words with no true weight to them.

"You shut up. You shut the hell up and you listen to me, damn it! It hurts, yeah. And it's not right, I know. I know because Cas has said his fair share of crap to me and it hurt at first, but I didn't go off on a beer binge because I know that isn't him, because I stopped and realised he'd never say things like that unless he was trying to push me away on purpose."

"Yeah, well, good for him, it worked, sure as hell pushed away, he said it, not me. Now, give me my keys."

The man groaned in frustration, the mechanic was too damn drunk or something to see reason, "Tell me, if you were just 'another warm body,' do you think he would've said everything he did? That he would've held you, kissed you? Called you what he did?"

"It doesn't matter now."

 _"Oh my God,_ don't you even start with that! It matters, it freaking matters! He loves you, you love him and don't you dare say you wouldn't do everything necessary to keep loved ones away from danger, even if it's uncalled for, Sam's told me plenty."

Arguing with a drunk, emotionally compromised man who tried to act like he was not emotionally compromised was like trying to move a freaking mountain or breathe fire naturally, it was simply not going to happen and he was so intent on his keys, nothing else.

"I don't care. Just give me my keys."

"You're not driving anywhere drunk, not while I'm here."

A good thing about him being borderline dangerously inebriated was that it was easier to predict when he was coming at him, so ducking down to avoid his swipe at him was easy enough and he held out his hand as he moved back, trying to pacify him.

"You're not thinking straight. You don't want to do this."

Obviously, drunk Dean did want to do that and hey, might as well try and start hitting him, he was a damn near mirror image of his brother, he was there and available to take it out on, except he was not going to take it lying down. Fighting was not his strong suit, for many reasons, though he knew enough and had the advantage of being sober to weave around the hits and get behind him, arms wrapping around him and locking his hands together.

"Dean, _stop!"_

This was getting them nowhere, this was only doing exactly what Castiel wanted to happen, mess with Dean's head and pit the man against him, they no longer were focused on him, everything was deliberate and Dean was falling for it. Dean was also backing them up and slamming him against the brick wall, air leaving him in a painful whoosh and it being almost impossible to take in when he did it repeatedly to let him go.

If anything, this was keeping him holding on and he might as well take a page from his brother's book, from way back in high school and what a good thing he was more fit than back then. As soon as he had the room, he hopped up to plant his feet on the wall he was being backed up into and propelled them forward, the mechanic's head colliding with the opposing wall of this small little alley like space they were in and it was all kind of sloppy and frenetic from there.

They had both gone down and Jimmy let out a painful, "Oof," refusing to let him go, which meant he was awkwardly sprawled on him, legs shifting to pin him down as Dean was saying things he chose to ignore.

"We can lay here all night or I can drive us to the motel. Don't think I won't, you're no different from dealing with an immature brat right now and I have plenty of experience with rowdy children."

Some of Claire's friends were headache-inducing little nightmares on legs back when they were younger and some still tried his patience now with their flippant attitudes, he had thirteen damn years of dealing with tantrums and if Dean wanted to fit the profile, fine, he was going to treat him like a child.

"Now, use your words."

_"Fuck you!"_

"I don't want to take away your car, Dean. But I'll do it if you're going to keep saying mean things that hurt people's feelings. I know you're mad, but that doesn't make it right. What's the right thing to say?"

Not growling and trying to throw him off, that was for sure.

"I know you can do it, I believe you can. So, what's the right thing to say?"

It seemed a little ridiculous to him that he had to do this for a thirty-seven year old man who simply had a minor lapse in judgement of when enough was enough and it made him appreciate a little more that he did not drink himself, rare was it that he did, only for special occasions and even then, it was not much. Although, Dean had stopped trying to flop his way out, a victory in some sense.

"… 'm sorry."

"Thank you. That was very mature of you, Dean."

"… Now get off of me."

No complaints from him, his arms were beginning to cramp up and his hands hurt from being smashed between the ground and the other. Getting up, he helped the man who was avoided his eyes again, hands shoved in his pocket and already walking away. At least he actually went to the car and got in and goddamn it, now he had a sad, brooding drunk.

This was going a long night and he was not looking forward to the morning.

\---

Morning was, indeed, not a pleasant thing.

Jimmy had stayed awake watching the news and reruns until he was certain that Dean was asleep and woken up early enough to swing by CVS and a doughnut shop, arriving on time to set down a coffee and the small bottle of painkillers he bought as the man jerked out of what he imagined was another nightmare.

He wondered what it was now.

"Don't take them all at once. And here's some food to go with it. We have to leave in a bit."

There were so many doughnut possibilities, he ended up picking a bear claw, it was something he knew the name of, and a smoothie for himself. Too much processed junk and sugar, especially this early in the morning made him nauseous, a slightly safer route was this drink and it was not like they were going to be out very long, just to volunteer and that was it.

That was it and Jimmy felt unreasonably nervous.

It was not like he did not spend time around children before, he was very good with children, even babysat for some of his neighbours, yet none of those children were his brother that he barely learnt about a day ago, a brother he knew nothing about, and there were a whole plethora of thoughts and concerns stemming from that. Piling on how Dean was, not communicating with him at all the whole way, it was only increasing his anxiety and stress levels.

He was too young to be this wound up.

The silver lining in this is that the whole process of going to the main office, talking with someone there and proving he was who he said he was along with Dean doing the same went by quicker than normal. Good, really, very good, and he was fiddling with the clip on visitor's badge they gave him as he entered the classroom, noise of children chattering erupting the moment he opened the door.

What solid doors they had, he would have appreciated these a few years ago.

He only got a look at what the children were doing for a second, some sort of individual work before a little boy has noticed him come in and launch himself out of his seat to wrap his arms around him, surprising him with the affection he had for a potential stranger, even if he knew who this boy was.

"Castiel! You're back!"

Oh.

Oh, okay, that explained things and made things more confusing at the same time, the man accepting this embrace either way before kneeling down to meet his eye level, smiling.

"Your hair is different! Did you dye it? And your piercings are gone!"

One question was how long has Castiel known this boy?

Another was did they meet by chance or did he actually already know?

"Hi, Samandriel," the boy immediately looked at him in befuddlement, not shocking because the differences between them really were clear the longer they talked and were around someone, "I'm not Castiel, actually. I'm his brother, Jimmy." And that seemed to blow the small boy's mind, gears working double time before he seemed to get it.

"Twins. You're twins, right? That's what you are?"

"That's right, we are. Sorry if he didn't tell you, he can be silly like that sometimes."

Samandriel looked between him and Dean, who was talking to the teacher and he suddenly shrank back, as if uncertain of whether he was allowed to be as close as he was and it broke his heart, he would have liked nothing more than to hug him and tell him everything, that it was okay now. Not the time or place and it was kind of a heavy load to drop on a child, so he smiled again.

"Hey, I've got an idea. How about I introduce you two and then you can show me what you're working on?"

Prospect of showcasing his work enough for him, he nodded and they moved to go and meet this new man. He was tall, too, taller than Jimmy and a little bit bigger and he looked a little scary when he walked in, like a mad face and he did not like mad faces, they scared him and something bad always happened when they were around, so he stayed close to Jimmy because he was Castiel's brother and Castiel was nice to him, really nice, he drew with him and bought him food and did not tell on him or say mean things.

"Samandriel, this is Dean. Dean, Samandriel."

Dean?

"You're Castiel's special, dear one!"

Father always told him to hold his tongue, to think before he spoke because otherwise he said embarrassing things and made him ashamed and if he did that, he was bad and if he was bad, it was really bad for them and sometimes, even Gabriel could not protect him from it and that was scary and _oh no,_ he did it again, why else would Dean look like that, all odd expression that he did not have on his list, what if he told on him, what if he told him he was bad and no, no, no, stop it hands, father hated his hands, hated when he would use them.

"Sorry! I'm sorry! Please don't tell!"

Father hated when he was like this, said he was bad, said to control his emotions, stop having these infantile fits, they were bad but he was scared but then he was told he was not supposed to be and he did not see how panicked Dean looked at the abrupt change, at a loss of what did he even do, he never even said a word to the kid and dropped down to his knees.

"Hey, hey, kid. Samandriel, I'm not telling anyone, alright? You're not in trouble, so just…" Shit, he was starting to tear up more and flapping around, this was a shitty first impression and Jimmy was glaring at him like he tripped the poor kid and stole his lunch money, screaming at him with his eyes to fix it, "Castiel, he told you about me? What'd he tell you? He didn't tell you I snore in my sleep, did he? Because he does, not me. Not loud, but you can tell he does. He drools, too, when he falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow after he's had a really long day at work."

The kid had stopped and was squirming in his spot and… tapping. His hands were doing the same thing the Novak twins did, they were fidgeting at his sides and hitting his thighs, wide eyes boring into his with freaking laser intensity, how the hell had he perfected that at age six?

Actually, he might not want to know the answer.

Then he kept shifting his weight and looked uncertain as he talked, eyes darting down to the carpet and unable to hold his gaze.

"He said… he said you're his sun and stars, his special, dear one. And… and to call you if he didn't answer."

Jimmy watched this exchange, half expecting Dean to say something that would imply Castiel was not that to him, worded so he would understand but Samandriel would not. Instead, he saw the mechanic give him a soft smile, a little pained at the edges, and nod.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm his sun and stars. He's the moon of my life, bet he didn't tell you that. But, you're a smart kid, you probably already knew that. And you can call whenever you want, I've been looking for a phone buddy."

It was heart wrenching to note how amazed Samandriel was at what Dean said, like he never had a buddy before to talk to and nodded, his hands moving around. Jimmy had noticed that as soon as he started, a little stunned at the similarities between them and then he was worried.

If Samandriel was similar in this, did it mean he was in other respects?

Did he have trouble controlling his anger, with his emotions as a whole?

That confirmed his suspicions that he had for years, that had already been confirmed somewhat since he read that journal, that made him sick. Hereditary, they must have taken after Bartholomew, were at a higher disposition to be like they were, it developed how it did because of how they grew up and he was so, so sickened.

He was different than Bartholomew, he was, he learnt to manage it and stepped away when he was too angry to think straight, he picked up methods to cope, he never laid a hand on his wife and daughter, on anyone in a fit of rage. Castiel… Castiel tried. He tried and it was with no small sense of horror that he realised, maybe it was all his fault.

His brother always got into fights, always protected him, always did everything he could and what if that was why he had these lapses in judgement, what if he was part of the reason why?

Oh _God…_

What if he was part of the reason Castiel was trying to kill Bartholomew?

This horror stayed the whole time he was in this class, helping around as he could and avoiding playing favourites with the boy, although it was tempting to do so, to learn more about him. And it made time pass by too slowly, torturously slow though eventually it was the end of class and he had asked Dean if they could stay outside because Samandriel wanted to say goodbye properly.

"Whatever, man. Kid needs it."

That was the end of the conversation temporarily and Jimmy was not excited to push the mechanic right now about what happened with Castiel. He was sober and had the keys and if he tried to punch him, it was more likely than not that he would not be able to dodge.

"Samandriel. He does the thing, too," Dean was talking and that was an improvement, the man lifting his hands and mimicking the movements the boy made, "That like a thing you take after that dick?"

"I think so. I'm not sure, we never considered it was bad or anything. Our tempers, yeah, but that was dealt with, more or less. But mother didn't have habits like this and I never saw my grandparents, so I figured it was more on his side."

This was all a tad overwhelming to him, to be honest.

The other gave a hum of understanding and he let the silence settle for all of one minute.

"Dean, about Cas…"

"Cas made his choice, I've made mine. I'm here to help your kid brothers get away from that dick the legal way and that's it. And if Cas gets in my way or puts that in jeopardy, then I'll take him down."

Not what he wanted to hear or how he wanted the case to be closed, though the bell rung and kids were all filing out then Samandriel was running towards them, eyes wide with wonder.

"You're here!"

"We promised we'd be here."

The boy plopped down in front of them, fingers wiggling and upper body swaying and Jimmy smiled, not being able to help moving his own hands up, open and close, open and close.

"My brother and I, when we were a little younger than you, we started calling this happy hands. We still do it now, when we're really happy, it's normal to us."

His eyes were wide, staring at his hands and then at his own, following the movements carefully.

"It's not… it's not _bad?"_

"No. Our mother never told us that, just that we were her angels. So, it's not bad, it's never bad. It's a part of you and it's nothing bad or to be ashamed of."

The boy had thrown himself at him and Jimmy tipped back a little from the force, bracing himself with one hand and holding him with the other, looking at Dean over the child's head, seeing the same somber expression he definitely felt.

What had Bartholomew done to the poor boy so far?

"Thank you."

Jimmy had no idea how to respond and was spared the necessity.

"Yo, Samandy!"

A teenager was coming up to them and already eyeing him warily as the boy scrambled to get up.

"You're not the same guy from yesterday."

That answered when his brother met… well, his younger brothers.

"I'm not, no. That was Castiel, I'm Jimmy."

This must be Gabriel and he was squinting at him, looking him up and down.

"Right… Jimmy, Castiel, whoever you are and other guy, I got to jet. Come on, baby bro, we need to get to the centre."

Samandriel frowned, reluctantly picking up his bag and hesitating.

"Will I… are you going to be back next week?"

"I'll do my best, I promise."

The boy nodded, smiling at that and hopping on one foot to another, convinced enough that he walked off. Gabriel stared a little longer before following along.

"Kid seems suspicious of you."

"I haven't the faintest idea why."

They never met before this, he only came to North Carolina once before on business and it was not to Raleigh.

So why did he look like he did know who he was?

\---

This was it.

This was his mission and it was in the final stage.

Crowley said that he would come home from work in half an hour, his brothers went to some community centre on Friday's, so he could slip into the house undetected, complete his mission and leave before they would need to be picked up. Of course, this meant that he would have to find some way of contacting the authorities, so they would not come home to something like this, but that was okay.

Sacrifices had to be made for the sake of a mission and it cleansed away the bad. What was it he always said, about sins? Sins needed to be purged, absolved. So, by that logic, he was sin and needed to be purged.

Simple.

It was so simple to walk to the up to the house, go around to the back and pull out a lock pick from his pocket, a skill he had perfected in his younger years, they had been necessary. When he heard the click, he straightened up and tucked it away, opening the door quietly and entering. His free hand was already reaching to his back, grabbing the gun he was provided.

What a crude weapon and so imprecise.

That was okay, it was only a last resort and means of persuasion.

Handling it was a delicate matter, he had learnt how to as professionally as he could, although only half raised because this was simply an analysis of the house, to map out the layout before he arrived. It was beneficial to know, no need to be at a disadvantage.

The house should have been empty besides him, which made the cold, solid object colliding with his face all the more discombobulating, the blow with enough force behind it to knock him down to the floor. Nose throbbing–it was bleeding, his septum clicker had been jostled painfully–and vision blurred, his attempt to raise the gun was terminated, a foot crushing down on his wrist, pulling a hiss from him.

"Never learn, do you, Castiel?"

Blinking rapidly, trying to refocus, but upon hearing that voice, he felt something in his chest seize up, breath lodged in his throat and everything cracked, everything broke apart, the dam crumbled the moment he saw those blue eyes looking down on him, condescending like nothing had ever changed, like it was not twenty-nine years later, and this could not be, how did this happen, he planned everything, he did absolutely everything necessary, there was no way he could fail, there was no chance of failure the way he planned this.

"And this is why _you will always fail."_

The last thing he saw was a pan coming down on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's an ending, isn't it? A shame it wasn't empty like Castiel thought, but isn't it a little odd how Crowley, being who he is, wouldn't have known Bartholomew was there? Just something interesting. 
> 
> I hope that beginning part with Castiel shed some more light on his thought process. It's really chaotic in his head and he actually is really torn on what he had to do, it affects him more than he cared to show and he's sort of stuck in a loop. The wounds from the past and present are really messing with him and well, it kind of all mutated terribly, like Jimmy said in the last chapter.
> 
> And, I don't know, the scene between drunk Dean and Jimmy looks incredibly amusing to me in my head. It's bad what Dean did, yes, but still. 
> 
> Dean, I tried to make his response as accurate as I could, since he tends to push things down and pretend it never happened and everything's fine. 
> 
> Samandriel's brief point of view, it was to establish a good few things, without being too explicit on some parts because I know that can be upsetting to some people and I really don't want to upset anyone. And Gabriel, suspicious, maybe you might know what that's about, maybe I left enough clues.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This whole thing is going from bad to worse, with very little good in the midst of it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter, sorry for any typos or disorganisation, I haven't been well lately, apparently I haven't been taking care of myself and running on empty, I believe the saying is;;
> 
> Warnings, let's see… a case of claustrophobia, I would say, it might be worth mentioning just in case. Mentions of current child abuse. I think that might be it, I'll add anything else if I find it as I read or feel free to comment if you think I should add something. 
> 
> Enjoy. :D

"This little guy here is only about a month old, he's definitely a cutie."

Azures looked at the little ball of fluff in the cage that wobbled to standing, mewling incessantly and he smiled as the kitten moved around. Straightening up from having to bend over to take a good look, an arm wrapped around his shoulders and he leant into the solid body, sighing softly.

"What do you think?"

"She's right, he is adorable."

"Mm… you've said that about every kitten, Balthazar."

"And you don't think so?"

At the impish grin he saw the Brit give him, he rolled his eyes. Yes, they were all cute, tiny and able to fit in the palm of his hand with these adorable little meows, he turned into mush every time he saw one. That was what made this so difficult, having to choose only one to adopt because the rest would be left behind. If he had the time, space, and money, he would bury himself in all the fluffy kitties–all animals in need, even–and give them all a home. Unfortunately, he could not, especially with being an air traffic controller and one that did not have as much seniority, his hours were more erratic than usual. Balthazar was already helping him immensely, offering to raise the kitten along with him, so he would not have to worry about the feline being neglected. That in mind, he walked with him, glancing at all the kittens before passing one particular cage, pausing, and stepping back, intrigued.

"What about her?"

"Her" was a big, unruly puff of black fur that filled a rather large portion of the cage she was in despite how she was pressed all the way in a corner, unblinking blue eyes boring into him.

"She's been here awhile now, she's really cranky, so most overlook her, sadly."

"How old is she?"

"Two. You know how it is, the young ones go first and black cat superstition."

Two was hardly ancient, superstition was illogical and the ATC moved closer to the cage, one hand lifting up to hover over it, canting his head when he heard a growl of warning rumbling from her. Overlooked and kept locked up like this, it was no wonder she was cranky. Being trapped for any amount of time was suffocating and could drive anyone mad, he knew this, he could not imagine what she had been through.

"Hello. You probably might not understand me, but you're very beautiful."

She stared.

Castile made his choice, not taking his eyes off this lovely feline and smiling softly.

"I want her. A queen like her deserves better than a cage."

And she deserved all the love he could offer.

\---

Regaining consciousness, dream still fresh in his mind, Castiel found it a little strange that particular memory came to mind. Why would it come now? Actually, there were a lot more questions. Why did his face hurt? Why could he not move his mouth, why was it hot, why was it dark, why could he not move, why-

Oh God, no.

It all came crashing down too soon, too suddenly and his eyes widened even further with no success in discerning any details of the location. The reason his mouth could not move was because there was duct tape over it, a spike of panic stabbed into his chest because it was hot because he was trapped somewhere, he was bound, legs and upper body, and no amount of squiggling was offering him any signs of an opening. It did nothing but have him hit the walls of this small space, body already cramping so he must have been here awhile. His erratic movements jostled him around enough that he bumped his head against some sort of drawer or something, hard enough that something fell on top of his head and he shook it off, the material grazing his face, it was scratchy and smelt like Gain and he recognised it and everything short circuited because no, no, no, this small space, he knew what it was, he knew, no, fuck no, no, please, _God, no!_

A _closet._

He was stuffed in a closet.

What happened, what happened, he was struck with a pan and… and there were bits and pieces, getting grabbed by his ankles, dragged, tied… a cage, a fucking cage, a fucking prison, get him out, get him out, _get him out!_

Wild and uncoordinated movements had him slamming his head and tied feet against the walls more than once, muffled shouts getting louder and more hysterical the longer he was left in the dark, in the suffocating heat, all alone, sharp, hard exhales huffing through his nose and no matter what thought tried to pop up to calm down, he had a mission, this was not helping, push it away, the frenzy of get him out, not in here, he was going to suffocate, going to die, the walls were going to close in on him, get him the fuck out, overloaded his brain and no, no, no, _**get him out!**_

Castiel had no idea how long he thrashed and screamed, all his energy exhausted to the point where all he could muster up was his head rhythmically thumping against what he concluded was the door at a sluggish pace, muted whines behind the tape and ragged breath whistling in through his nose. So dark, all dark, all alone, his eyes saw nothing and they burnt, hot tears trickling down his cheeks slowly.

Out, get him out, get him out of here, out, get him out, get him out of here, out-

The door opened.

Castiel fell listlessly onto his side with a loud thud, eyes squinting almost all the way shut from the onslaught of light and letting out a soft whimper because he was out, he was finally out, he was still bound, not even capable of pushing himself up, but he was out, out of the cage, out of the prison, out, he was out, out-

"Get up, Castiel."

Out, he was out, he was _finally out._

There was a sharp kick to his stomach and his cheeks puffed up with the forcefully contained cough, making some sort of pained snorting noise and curling up reflexively as much as he could.

"I said, get up, Castiel."

His thoughts were steadily becoming more coherent, now that he was no longer trapped, and he knew he had used up every last ounce of his strength, there was not enough to get up even if he cared to listen to the demand and what he received was another kick, trying his best not to outwardly react to it or the sigh that was far too familiar, however much it was brewing something inside, preferring to keep his face smothered in the carpet that rubbed painfully.

"Still such a disappointment."

The only reason he thought he was one was because he was currently confined by rope, which was grabbed onto to haul him all the way out and a pained groan was pulled from him when he was made to straighten out. Adjusted to the light, he caught a better look at the man standing over him, one foot pressed on knees to prevent him from huddling up and hoping to relieve the pain. And it was now that he could see him that he let out a disdainful snort, eyes narrowed at him.

He was not supposed to be here when he arrived, what happened, how did he know, how much time had passed, he needed to find a way out, needed to destroy him, a mission, he had a mission, any means necessary, complete it, wipe him away, a fucking stain.

"Don't bother trying, you're only going to fail."

The pressure on his knees increased and he tried to at least sit up, maybe smack his head against his leg, yet his body was not listening, not having the capacity to do it. That was fucking infuriating, as was not being able to do a thing when he grabbed him by the ankles once more, with the rope around them, and dragged along the carpet, nothing but writhe and snarl, nails digging into the carpet when they could, and give him what he hoped was a difficult time.

Clearly, not enough of one because a door was opened and he was tossed in like a damn sack of potatoes, tumbling down the few stairs and his face met the cold concrete unkindly.

Fuck, this was not made better by his piercings.

And this jackass walked down the stairs at a leisurely pace, down to what he pieced together was the basement, he saw the door when he came in through the back, it was before the kitchen. A foot nudged him onto his back and he glared at the man, well aware that there was blood coming from at least his nose–maybe it was broken or his clicker tore into him enough that it damaged the cartilage–if not also from his eyebrows' barbells fucking up.

Well, here they were.

Here they fucking were and Castiel was waiting for something, some more kicks, some more of the same words from the past, hell, maybe he would just shoot him and get it over with, although that was very doubtful, not his style. There was little he managed to catch on his way down, though it did not seem like there was any immediate object he could use to his advantage, perhaps if he was left alone he could find something, but he was not taking his eyes off this stain, not at all.

So, him bending down and ripping the tape off should not have been a surprise, even if done without regard for the fact that fuck, that really fucking burnt, and it was because that was not beating him to a pulp. Nonetheless, he took a large gasp of air, lungs finally feeling full, trying to get everything sorted out before talking.

"What do you want."

Doubtful he wanted a trip down memory lane.

This disgusting being tilted his head at him, observing him like some lowly species that had failed to meet whatever expectations he had for him, shaking his head.

"You're even more shameful than before, look at you. You look no better than some filthy criminal, destroyed your body."

The bark of laughter came out in complete disbelief.

Was he joking?

"You're telling me this? _You?_ You, who just hit me with a pan, tied me up and threw me down some stairs? Look in a fucking mirror, see who the real criminal is."

"Filthy tongue, too. Naomi was a poor parent."

That got him to surge forward all he could, not that it was much, lips curled back and teeth bared.

"Don't you talk about my mother. Don't you dare, you don't have the right. I swear to your God, I will rip you apart and make you regret everything you've done."

Big talk, a hell of a lot of talk, but Castiel was going to make good on it. If nothing else, if these were his last hours, he was going to take him down with him, that was still his mission, still what he had to do, he sacrificed for this, said such horrible things and did things for this, he was going to complete his mission and not even that condescending look was going to stop him.

"You never learn, so you're always going to fail, Castiel. When will you understand this?"

Ignore the words, ignore them and focus.

"How'd you know? You must've been tipped off somehow."

"I have my ways, not that you'd understand."

"You'd be surprised what I can understand. What is it? Make a deal? Have some underhanded contract? Are you one of those businessmen? Do you bathe yourself in sin?"

That got him a foot to the side and he wheezed, the sound morphing into a laugh, triumphant grin tugging at his lips.

"You _are._ All your talk and you wallow in filth, for your own gain," Castiel shifted enough to spit at his feet, "All your talk and it turns out you are the _abomination."_

Go ahead, go right ahead and get angry, come down on him, wrap a hand around his throat, look angry, go right ahead, go right the fuck ahead because he had twenty-nine fucking years to think about this, about how this stain was, how the hell he thought and he was choking, struggling for air, cheeks growing hot, body twitching, but he was not going to kill him, that was not his style, not after what he said, so go ahead, go ahead and try, get angry and lose sight, oh, go right ahead, he was fucking good at what he did, he tore apart Lilith the same way, any means necessary, it was only getting him closer to completing his task.

Once the hand eased the hold on his throat, he sucked in deep breaths, eyes not breaking away from the man that was glaring at him, inches away.

"I thought I taught you respect."

"And I thought I told you that you're stupid."

"I should've broken you in like the filth you are."

The ATC felt that grin come right back, a nasty twist of his lips, far too morbid and vicious a thing to truly be anything but wrong and he no longer cared because he had thrown away everything for this, cast away his loved ones, sacrificed everything, he had long since fallen off the edge, had the moment that screeching feedback and droning imploded in his head at the hospital and it was all for his mission.

What could possibly be more dangerous than a man with nothing left to lose?

"You're in over your head and I promise you, the moment you slip up-and you _will_ slip up-I will break you… _Sir."_

There goes the world again.

\---

"Father, we're home."

Gabriel walked in first, keeping his brother behind him, though he hardly needed any prompting, hands clutching onto his backpack. Scanning the area, nothing seemed off and he looked back at the boy, nodding.

"It's okay."

The guy was not in a bad mood, good for them, though he still went along first since it was strange that he called him and told him to stay even longer at the centre, that something "came up." Hell if he knew what it was and frankly, he could not give two shits less if it kept them away from him, better for them.

They made it to the kitchen when the teenager heard a door open, having spent enough time listening and cataloging to know that was the basement door. It was important to know where the dick was coming from, honestly saved their lives a few times because if he had never learnt, then he would never know when and where to hide with his brother or at least stash his little brother somewhere safe with the instructions, "Cover your ears and sing your song until I can come get you."

He was coming from the basement, then.

Not comforting.

"Remember to hold my hand, okay?"

"Okay."

Samandriel had these habits with his hands and sometimes with his body as a whole, he did not really understand how exactly they helped his brother out, just that they did and that sometimes he said or did things that made no sense to him or lost himself in his drawings, like he had no idea there was a world beyond it, but he accepted him for who he was and tried his best to comprehend, unlike daddy dearest. Holding his hand, if it got to be too much for Samandriel made it so his wiggling, twitching fingers were not as noticeable and his body hid most of his brother's.

And here he was, man of the freaking hour, eyes flicking between them.

"You're home early."

"Lucifer's mother came earlier for him."

No way in hell they were walking home, they would only end up arriving late and that was way worse. Of course, the guy never believed him, because he hummed and said, "I'll be calling her myself to ask." Because of course, how could he forget, he totally forgot that he loved to lie about why he was _five_ freaking minutes early and please forgive him for this mortal sin.

All that came out was, "I understand. May we be dismissed? Samandriel needs to wash up to eat."

"Go."

No need to tell him twice, he was already hurrying his brother out of there as fast as he could without insulting the dick, teeth grit together all the while. It was not that Gabriel was crazy about talking like he swallowed a dictionary and the book of etiquette whenever he talked to him, he actually hated it and had about a kiloton worth of retorts in him.

Thing was, he did not have only himself to look after. Maybe about seven years ago, he would not have much of a problem with talking back and he now realised that it was in thanks to his mom, who was like a barrier in between him and that dick. Not preventing everything, he had a faint scar at the corner of his lip and other places to prove it, but a lot of what could have been. Then mom got pregnant and he stopped some because she was having trouble throughout her pregnancy and she never really asked, though he knew if he was not so loud and talkative at home, it would help her. And then Samandriel was born and mom died, he had little more than memories to remember her by and one thing that stuck was that he promised her, ten years old, that he would raise his brother and protect him like a big brother should. So, if that meant stroking the douche's ego rather than risking a hand raised, he would take the former and be himself whenever he was not around.

Obviously, he still had some trouble, but he was sixteen, hormones, it was in his blood, whatever.

"Gabe, he's not mad face?"

"Nah, kiddo."

Kind of a lie. Something–more than usual–was ticking him off, not something about them so out of sight, out of mind. What he could do was take Samandriel to wash his hands, playing with the bubbles he liked, and take him downstairs to reheat their dinner, sitting at the table to eat. Whenever they ate alone, he said fuck it to praying and his brother did not mind. They ate and talked in hush tones, the teenager wincing slightly when the boy would squeal in amusement or blurt something out like he was across the room and not sitting beside him. He wanted him not to feel like he could not be himself, he worked his ass off for that, and he would always let him express himself any way he could, so long as he did not hurt himself in the process, it was simply being here made it difficult, his eyes darting over to check the guy was not coming.

Thankfully, today was not one of those days, so they finished up, Samandriel stood on a little booster beside him when he washed the dishes, playing with the bubbles and putting the washed dishes in the dish rack to dry and after, Gabriel picked the boy up, the squeals and giggles muffled against his neck, the boy's legs wrapped around him as he walked up the stairs.

"You're getting big, bro. One day, you're going to be carrying me up these stairs."

Humour was good, it helped the kid out and hell, it helped him out, made it a smidgen better, probably kept him from becoming bitter or losing his shit. Actually, pot helped, too, a fact he saw no reason to share with the boy and he was proud of how that dick had not figured it out yet. Fuck knows he would beat his ass into an indistinguishable pulp if he ever did, number one unspoken rule of no visible injuries be damned, and that was a road he would rather not travel. Instead, he waited for Samandriel to get his clothes from his room.

Despite having their own rooms, they would always be in Gabriel's and he would often crawl into bed with him. The boy's room was more when he really needed a safe space that Gabriel could not provide for whatever reason Samandriel had and he never questioned, usually after hiding away on his own or an emotional burst or something and during those times, the teenager would sit outside the room, reading or doing homework once he wrote down what happened, what day, how long, what he might be able to do to help, things like that.

And he might have been standing–sitting?–guard, not wanting the guy to try and force his way in, it only made his brother worse.

Speaking of, he was taking long and he peered into the room, seeing Samandriel open a drawer, close it, wait a few seconds and then open it again.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

"My towel is not here."

Shit.

"My bad, I didn't have time to put everything where it belongs. Wait here, I'll get it."

The boy left the drawer open now, staring at it.

"It's okay."

Samandriel would probably always tell him "It's okay," no matter what he did, even if he plucked one of those flowers he really liked drawing. He never thought ill of him and not that he would ever admit it to anyone but the boy, it did a lot in keeping him together, knowing that he was "okay" and was associated with "happy face" on his brother's list of known faces, that he was doing a good job raising him. If he thought he was a bad dude, or worse, was on the "mad face" and "sad face" category of his list of faces, he highly doubt he would be as inclined to decline the offers he got for something stronger and better than pot.

Whatever, best not to think about it and with a sigh, he made his way to the closet and opened it up and okay… he was ninety-nine point eight percent certain he did not make this mess in here. Squatting down, he picked up Samandriel's sunshine yellow towel amongst the two other fallen ones, eyes scanning the entirety of the area. Contrary to popular belief, his attitude at school and with friends or what he did in his spare time did not make him stupid, he was actually a pretty smart dude and he knew it. He was not rubbing it in people's faces, but really, there was a reason the guy thought he could go to Ravenscroft and it was his efforts that kept him there. If he did well and shit, maybe he could take Samandriel away when he was eighteen, get a job and junk, he could raise the kid on his own, practically did already.

So, when he looked in the closet, paying attention to it all, he saw the spots on the wall that appeared to have been hit with enough force to sink them in a little and that was not there before, the guy hated so much as a hair out of place. Folding up the other two towels and placing them where they belong, his eyes moved along the closet and the area he was standing around and huh, a stain. A small, reddish brown one, stark against the cream carpet.

Really, he should be getting to his brother, he had the towel, nothing else should matter. Except, with the stain, there were some other oddities in the carpet, long, intermittent raised spots that he followed with his gaze to the basement and _shit._

He shut the closet door as quick as he could without making too much noise and ran back up the stairs, his brother exactly where he was standing when he left and he smiled, out of sight, out of mind, that was it.

"Here we are. Now, what bubbles do you want today?"

Out of sight, out of mind.

How Gabriel wished that was true.

\---

The entirely shitty thing about the living conditions they had is that, for all intents and purposes, Gabriel would say, yes, Bartholomew is an _excellent_ father. Reason being, if he said anything but that, if he fessed up to knowing what he did to his brother, told what he did to him, child services or whoever would be here at the drop of a dime, hounding and eventually, would take them away. And that scared him because what if they separated them, how would he care for his kid brother then, what if he went somewhere worse and on his own and no one was there to watch over him.

Lesser of two evils and shit, right?

So, days like these, where he could go over to a friend's house–Samandriel came along, for obvious reasons–and not have to worry about that was like a goddamn paradise. Not to mention, Lucifer's mom made the best fucking cookies in the world. Most would think, baby brother comes along, baby brother cramps their style. Though, all Gabriel had to tell him was, "Pack your drawing stuff," and he was golden, the kid had a field day whenever he could draw without worries and more often than not, hardly said a peep and stayed drawing at the table, little feet kicking happily.

"So, you think there's a person down there?"

Another thing he liked was that he could talk to Lucifer and the dude knew shit was bad, knew it was really bad and made the effort to convince his parents to convince his dad–a very loose use of the term–to let them come over more often and not just the once a month thing he first established. Never did he say he was going to call someone and tell. Well, he had, at first, said that and Gabriel talked him down from it, horrified at the possibilities that could follow. And he could talk to him and he would never shrug it off or tell him that was stupid and shit. Like now, for example, they were eating cookies and Lucifer had just made his move, leaving him to stare at the chess pieces.

Chess was fun, alright? Fuck anyone who said it was not, they would get nair in their shampoo and he would hack their precious laptops and phones, stick them with some nasty virus in the form of pop ups or spam or something just as annoying.

"Yeah. I mean, it was like horror movie level obvious something went down, whoever it was probably meant to leave clues."

That move should be good.

"You didn't check?"

"And risk his wrath and leave Samandy alone? Nah, man. Besides, the damn door has got two different locks on it, I don't have the keys and I sure as shit can't pick locks."

The blonde hummed and made his move, taking another cookie off the plate.

"Well, I don't know. Your dad's shady, Gabe, this might not be something uncommon. Maybe he just didn't use his normal place."

Gabriel snorted, "What, like he has some sort of torture dungeon somewhere?" His hand paused over his bishop, "… Shit, wait, never mind, that wouldn't be a surprise," before making his move. The poor person, what the hell was he to do. Possibly save a stranger's life, call the cops, say that he thinks there might be someone in his house's basement and then maybe not see his brother again or not do anything about it and know he would stay with his brother?

Life and death decisions like this should not be on a sixteen year old's shoulders.

This is what he would blame when Lucifer smirked and claimed, "Checkmate," he was distracted was all.

"Goddamn it!"

Next time, he would beat him next time.

Huffing as they put away all the pieces, he finished the last cookie, reluctant to do so because he really wished there were more and the other asked him about something he had really not thought about as much as he should, though he did have the reason of possible captive in his basement as a distraction.

"You see those guys again today before you got here? What'd you say their names were?"

"Castiel and Jimmy."

A little out of the blue for not one, but both of them to pop up around his brother and that concerned him. Were they sent to see if the dick treated them right, get close to his brother and earn his trust? Samandriel was an excellent judge of character for being six years old, he was, and he looked at them and junk, interacted, that eased his suspicions about Castiel when he first met him. That, and somehow, he doubt child services would have a guy all pierced and tattooed up–at least, he saw some on his arms–working for them or telling him smoke quality pot. They were probably all stiffs in suits and crap.

So, one was okay.

Then Jimmy was there with some other dude whose name he never got and well, that was something different altogether, because people do not just show up like that, especially not a set of twins, he imagined, unless something was up and whatever was up had to do with his brother so it had to do with him.

"But, no, didn't see them. You have anything?"

Normally, Gabriel would have done it himself yesterday, gotten on his computer, sat down, and found what he could about them. Just, like the guy never wanted a fucking thing out of place, he got off on control and making sure he knew he had control over everything. And, like he said before, he was smart, he could get around whatever thing he put on his phone and computer so he would not be able to see what sites he went to and he could probably do it without alerting him, computers were his thing. But, if he ever did find out, it went back to indistinguishable pulp and he hardly found the pros outweighing the cons.

"A few things, yes. Hold on."

As he went to get his laptop, Gabriel got off the couch to go check on his brother in the dining room and like he was when he checked on him half an hour ago, there he was, drawing and little feet kicking. He was in one of those zones, where someone could snap their fingers in front of him and he would not pay attention, not that he ever tested that, it was rude, going back to the living room instead, the other already back.

"He good?"

"Yeah, still drawing."

Lucifer had already brought up the browser, a few tabs open, handing it over with the page displayed right now being an article from 2015 he was already skimming.

"Not a good rapport with the law."

At this point in the article, the words, "No shit," encompassed a lot of what he was thinking. The other guy's name was Dean Winchester, accused of murder and evading the authorities with none other than Castiel Novak as his accomplice. There was some security cam footage and he had to at least give them props for being so coordinated in taking out the guard, considering that despite saying Castiel was an accomplice, there was no indication the guys ever even ran into each other beforehand. Next tab clicked on and this time it was a video of a disgruntled Jimmy Novak, from some news segment and as the chipper voice stated, "live, from Pontiac, Illinois!" Which did not make him feel better because Dean and Castiel, on the run, they could have popped up anywhere in the nation, Jimmy was at home and Illinois was a ways from here. Video playing, he listened to the man defend his brother and decline saying much else, looking like he was ready to punch the camera when it would not leave. And look at that, next tab was about whatever the hell had gone down, hooray for them, they were not guilty and what they were tangled up in was a fucking _drug operation._

Leaning back, he scrubbed a hand over his face.

"Fuck."

Fuck, what did this mean?

"Gabe, you don't think Bartholomew is in that, do you?"

"Drugs? Hell, I have no clue. Maybe, it wouldn't be that surprising. Just… the brothers, there's something about them."

Something about them, it nagged at him, like he was missing some important piece to this that would blow the case wide open. When he saw Castiel, yeah, his name was a little odd, never heard anyone with that name before, so he thought the nagging came from that, on where exactly did they find the name. Bible, likely, but where because he had to read it plenty of times before, maybe he missed it. When he saw Jimmy, obviously he pieced together they were twins and the nagging came back, something he could not pin on his name, Jimmy was pretty common.

Jimmy and Castiel, twins, why did this nag at him, they were twins, twins were a thing, that should not be a shocker and it still nagged, Jimmy and Castiel, Jimmy was a nickname or whatever, so his name was James, not uncommon either, James and Castiel Novak, twins, why the hell did this nag so much? Their hometown was Pontiac, it was Pontiac, Illinois…

Pontiac, that was it.

The guy talked about his hometown once, when mom was still alive, she was three months pregnant, he was half-asleep when they were talking, coming down for a glass of water, snippets of the conversation heard, she was saying stuff, he was saying stuff, he said he was from Pontiac, Illinois, he sounded angry, must hate the place or his parents or something, stuff and names were said and…

Novak, the name Novak came up, something about never again, something, he was really tired. That was a long since buried memory, he did that to all his memories of his mom, liking to keep them safe and sound and bringing them up to get him through the tougher times. Later, he could reminisce, right now he found out he was fucking right, something was going on and he was going to find out what, taking the laptop and getting to work.

"What're you doing?"

"Finding out who the hell these Novak twins are."

"If the police come knocking, I'm blaming you."

"Never been caught before," which was entirely true. His computer skills, like hacking, were the best, screw all the little preppy kids in his class who boasted about writing subpar code as if it was the most amazing thing in creation, he could do better with one hand and Windows Vista. Anyway, it was easy enough to find basics, where they lived, what they did for a living, family, things of that nature.

Jimmy still lived in Pontiac, Illinois and was apparently an incredibly successful businessman that made it in his first job with some company that was into communications or some junk, based on the name, he was married to a woman named Amelia and had a thirteen year old girl named Claire. Castiel lived in Lawrence, Kansas and was an air traffic controller at Wichita Airport after transferring from his first assignment at Ontario International–seemed like a downgrade, he was making significantly less, but whatever, maybe the dude liked smaller places–and now it made sense why Samandriel was fixated on planes at the moment, he was unmarried and a hundred bucks on him knocking boots with Dean, why the hell else would he be hanging around with Jimmy after everything that happened or be fine with his number being given?

Family, beyond the twins and in-laws, family was a mother, Naomi Novak and… oh, fuck, she just died, barely a week ago. Suddenly, he felt guilty about having learnt that, it was a pretty personal thing, a fresh wound. It was not that he was trying to learn it on purpose, however, it was all there, it was not easily avoidable and he pressed on, hoping he was not going to see that their dad died of cancer or Huntington's or something equally devastating. When he got to it, who it was, these thoughts did a one-eighty, wishing all damnation on the guy.

"Fuck… fuck, fuck, fuck…"

"Gabriel?"

"Fuck, fuck, _fuck!"_

Boy, was _that_ fucking eloquent.

Gabriel liked to think so and he also liked to think, in general, something he was having trouble with now. Shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath helped him think, Lucifer placing his hand on his arm after taking the laptop helped, too, made him feel grounded, like he was not going to be hurtled through the fucking sky at Mach ten with no control over where he went, no wings to fly, nothing, not even a parachute.

Okay, okay, o-fucking-kay.

So, simple way to put it: _stuff._

He could deal with stuff, he dealt with lots of stuff, this stuff was not so bad. Stuffy stuff just stuffing around, yeah… yeah, stuffy stuff stuffing around that was not bad stuff.

… Actually, this was good stuff. Very good stuff. Very good stuffy stuff stuffing around that could really balance out this scale that was his life with all the bad stuff weighing it down.

Eyes opening, he patted Lucifer's hand and gave a lopsided grin, "I've got a plan." And it was a damn good plan, had to be a damn good plan, this was the solution, this was what they fucking needed, the teenager making his way over to Samandriel. Still drawing as Gabriel sat down next to him and stated, "Dance time." As always, the stroke of his pencil screeched to a halt, big eyes lifting to meet his and giddy smile gracing him with its presence.

Samandriel loved dancing, loved learning all the new steps and following them, he saw that he enjoyed it and did his best to teach him new ones every so often, starting off simple to not make him frustrated and having him get too overly emotional and lose himself. The teenager preferred him looking like this far more than when he had to say, "Hide and seek," see that terror in his eyes as he abandoned his drawings and they had to hide away.

"Are we learning new dances?"

"Luci's going to practice your last dance with you, okay? I'm going to make you a snack, help you keep up your strength."

The boy needed nothing more and ran to the living room, peals of laughter bringing a smile to his face. He deserved it, his little brother deserved to be happy like this all the time, never scared about what might happen if he is and he would fight freaking tooth and nail to get this plan work, it had to, for him. First step was to reach into his brother's bag and fish out the piece of paper he knew he had folded with the upmost concentration to tuck away in the smallest pocket, unfold it, and dial the number.

Since this was going to work, to hell with the worries about using his phone, the guy did not check them daily, from what he knew.

Come on, come on, pick up.

"Hello?"

"I need to talk to Jimmy."

There was a pause, some shuffling, a faint, "It's Gabriel," more shuffling before the voice was crystal clear on the other side.

"Gabriel?"

"Hey there, big bro, we need to talk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, what's going to happen now that Gabriel knows? I wonder. I thought I should dedicated a chapter to him, how he thinks about Bartholomew and his little brother, all of that. And Lucifer, he just seemed like a good choice to have as a friend and such. They're little teenagers, too, it's something to picture. 
> 
> Also, I actually had to look back through the chapters and count the days that had passed, turned out to be about a week, so that was interesting to me, nine chapters span over a whole week. 
> 
> Castiel, his fear of small spaces–closets, in particular, I'd say–it never really came up in the last story. There was a scene towards the end where he was in a janitorial closer with Dean, but factoring in that he knew he was going in, it was unlocked, he just had his fingernails ripped off and fingers broken, along with the fact that it was told in Dean's perspective, it was not exactly something that was touched on. The reason for it, well, I think it's pretty clear why he's so terrified of them and Bartholomew being the one doing it helped none. Though, once the panic fades, he's definitely not giving up on his mission and willing to do whatever he needs to, same as he did in It Takes Two, with a bit of a darker twist to his reasoning this time around.
> 
> And, I made it so Jimmy was working in business because, well, I don't know. Selling ad time is good and all, I'm not bashing on it, though I feel like he could have done more if he had the chance, not been a vessel and business seemed to fit him. Bartholomew ending up in business also was kind of a happy–sad? I don't know–accident because it's pretty vital to the story.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A plan can be great, if everyone participates, although there are always some kinks to work out along the way. These kinks usually are rather painful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter, okay. 
> 
> So, this chapter is only one half of it, I would say, the next chapter will be the other side of all this and begin wrapping this up, I think. 
> 
> Warnings, mentions of homophobia, abuse, and I think that's the main things, I'll add things if I find anything else. I didn't make the any of the abuse very graphic because I don't want to upset anyone if they've gone through that or know someone who has, so it's all kind of vague and happening.

"Hey there, big bro, we need to talk."

Jimmy tensed in the middle of turning away from Dean, eyes widening some because how did he find out? There was the option of denying it, saying he had no idea what he was talking about, although that would only make it more difficult in the long run for everyone, so he swallowed the small lump in his throat and went with it.

"What did you want to talk about?"

"Our dick of a dad, for one. I'm guessing you and Castiel being here isn't a coincidence, the same way I'm guessing you know how he is."

The man shut his eyes briefly at that, it was as good a confession as any, Bartholomew had not changed at all in nearly thirty years. If anything, he might have been worse now, terribly so, "Yes, I'm… I'm aware. I don't by personal experience, Castiel does."

There was silence on the other side and God, he hoped that was not the completely wrong thing to say, that he was not being insensitive in any way by pointing out the difference, though the distinction may be relevant at some point.

"… Huh. Daddy dearest had a soft spot for you, didn't think that was possible for him."

"Yes, well, I wasn't… I wasn't very bright as a child, I didn't realise what he did to my brother. That's the reason, I imagine, he didn't do anything to me."

Granted, he received some firm words about do not do this or that, do not say what he did, think before he talked, always think before he talked, that this way was the right way, his ways were the right way. It never clicked in his head, back then, that he was trying to shape him into the perfect little son, he simply thought he was his father, father knew best. Sometimes, he would not believe him, when Castiel said not to, but with how distant the two were, it was hardly brought up all the time.

It made him a little sick to wonder how much of who he was ended up being because of Bartholomew, he had avoided thinking about it this whole time.

"Good for you, then. Not the being stupid part, but the other part," Gabriel could have sounded spiteful about that, about his relatively decent experience with Bartholomew, yet Jimmy picked up no real contempt on the words, "Samandy and I aren't so lucky, that's where you come in."

"Gabriel, you should know I want to do what I can to help you both, but you know Bartholomew, if I try and take you from him-"

"He'll rain down hell, it'll be the freaking apocalypse, yeah. That's only if there isn't enough evidence against him showing he's a shit parent. If our word isn't enough, there's someone in our basement as proof."

Most of that processed, almost all of it did, up until the end where his brain screech to a halt and he had to ask to make sure that was correct, "Excuse me? Did you just say someone is in your basement?"

"Yup. Guy stuck them in the closet and-"

Oh no.

"Wait, a closet? One of those small ones, not a walk in?"

"Uh, yeah. Tiny one downstairs where we put towels and shit."

Oh no, no, no.

Both ends of the phone were painfully quiet for too long, Jimmy could feel his heart thumping in his chest, louder and louder, as the pieces fit together, like a jigsaw puzzle he wanted never to exist, all his worst fears. And he could feel the aching start up, in his head, thrumming, whining and crap, no, he was supposed to control this.

"Jimmy."

Eyes darting to the source of the voice, he realised it was Dean, now standing in front of him, eyebrows furrowed and oh, he was really trying to crush the phone in his hand. The other had one of his own hands lifted, tentative in requesting the phone and the words blurted out, "Bartholomew has Cas." And hearing himself say it aloud did not help the itch in his head, he barely had time to shove the phone into his hand and hurry into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

Dean was left with the phone, call still going, stupefied for a short time. Not long enough for the other to hang up and he brought the phone up to his ear.

"What's this about that dick having Cas?"

That was wrong. Castiel was supposed to be safe, not do something stupid to get himself into even more shit. There was only so much the ATC could be put through before he ended up dead and the shittiest thing of all of this was that Dean had no idea if this was all part of his stupid ass plan or not, though he was leaning towards the latter.

"What happen with Jimmy?"

"He's… in the bathroom, trying to compose himself. Not every day your dad kidnaps your twin brother."

That sounded good, right? Did not make him sound like he was some horrible dude.

"Ah. So, he's an emotion volcano right now."

"A what?"

"An emotion volcano, he erupts and gets super emotional and wrecks stuff if he's around it, so he goes to his own island to let it out without hurting anyone and calm down. Samandy is like that sometimes, calling it that makes it easier for him to understand. Guess the guy isn't as unaffected as I thought. We can compare notes later. Right now, my other older brother is apparently locked in my basement and I can't begin to imagine what the guy's doing to him."

Fuck.

"Alright, tell me everything you know."

\---

_Whump._

Castiel was fairly certain if any noise did want to crawl out his throat, the fact that he was likely having hundreds of brain cells killed or something with every blow was preventing him from piecing together enough to send that message.

When he had come to, it was delightful to see that he was no longer lying on the floor tied up, not at all. Now he was sitting and tied to one of the support columns in the basement and what a joy, it was obviously wood, so if the rope was not chafing enough, he always had this.

Sarcasm was said to help a situation, lighten the mood, hardly the case with this.

Having gathered his bearings, he did a quick sweep of the area he could see, finding nothing close enough to scuttle for with his feet. A plus was that his legs were no longer tied up all the way, only his ankles, so not as bad as it could be. There was no way he was going to bend forward enough to gnaw his way through the ropes, his upper body may as well have become one with the column with how tightly bound he was. Wiggling his fingers, they tingled and he grimaced at the discomfort, soldiering on and it was a lot of seemingly senseless scrambling until he was able to hook his pointer finger on the rope and force it in enough that made his finger cry out from the strain.

Necessary sacrifices and better than when broken.

That had been, of course, hours and hours ago. Or, he believed it to be so, judging by how the noises above him had eventually quieted and no one was coming down. He did not find him worth sparing sleep for, it seemed, that was fine. It gave him more time to work on this, time he needed in abundance because this level of detail was not something that came to a beginner, he had practice doing this.

Halfway, he spared himself a break, it was illogical to tire himself out and if he tried to come in, it would be loud enough to wake him up.

More work, then the noises started again, so it was morning.

He heard a voice–Gabriel's–say they were going to Lucifer's now, oddly clear for not being right by the door, then the noise was only of one and might as well take the chance.

Shouting alone would not catch his attention, which meant he would settle for the next best thing.

_"If you could only see the beast you've made of me! I held it in but now it seems you've set it running free! Screaming in the dark, I howl when we're apart, drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart!"_

He always hated this.

_"Now there's no holding back, I'm making to attack! My blood is singing with your voice, I want to pour it out! The saints can't help me now, the ropes have been unbound! I hunt for you with bloody feet across the hallow'd ground!"_

Whatever would piss him off was best and he changed it up.

_"The bass, the rock, the mic, the treble, I like my coffee black just like my metal!"_

He hated songs like these, always told him not to sing ridiculous things.

_"I can't wait for you to shut me up! And make me hip like badass! I can't wait for you to shut me up! Shut it up!"_

He got as far as, _"Lalala! Oh! Lalala! Oh!"_ Finally, he heard the door open up, he came down the stairs, and he did try and shut him up. Repeatedly.

Not that it worked.

Sure, the punches hurt, blood was dripping from his right eyebrow, where the barbell was struck and tore beyond where it should stay and the blood was a little too close to getting in his eye and he was certain that something might end up needing stitches again, be it his mouth or otherwise, but all the information and time wasted he was getting was worth it. Something about not having anything broken over and over, though, it made it easier to deal with. Spitting out a frankly gross blob of spit and blood, he wheezed out a laugh and looked up at the man.

"You know, this was high school for me, I really do not see what you're aiming for here. Think I am going to follow your orders, think like you do, I'm suddenly going to see the supposed error of my ways and listen to you, get on my knees and pray?"

This stain had the same look of disappointment as he shook his head at him.

"You're so misguided, it's pathetic. You never could be like James. He grew up well, married, had a child, even followed in my footsteps."

"Considering he doesn't lock his daughter in closets and beat her or had to have underhanded dealings to work his way to the top, I would say he's nothing like you. He never has been."

Castiel had gathered enough to know that it would not be difficult for him to learn about their lives, a concern that might have had him the slightest bit reckless because if he focused on him, same as when he was a child, he would not focus on Jimmy. If he did not focus on Jimmy, then he would still be good, still be safe, his brother might actually leave or at least not try anything himself, something that would put him in danger.

As always, his words fell on deaf ears and he stared, unimpressed, whilst he went on and here it was, the great disappointment he was and why.

"What have you done? Nothing."

"I think having a steady job that I worked for and a plane of my own hardly qualifies as nothing."

"You've done nothing worthwhile, you've made foolish decisions, like taking a lowly job compared to what you had, all for the sake of a _man."_

Non-brutalised eyebrow arching, he really could not believe this. Was he mocking his job because of a transfer, because he made less? He was grasping at straws now to try and get him to feel bad.

"Think it's lowly, where I work now? Alright, next time you're taking off from a smaller airport, remind them not to have any ATC's there, none at all, see how long it takes until your plane crashes into another or the other way around, kill all those people and yourself because it's 'lowly' compared to an international one."

He thought further into what he said, everything he had told him this whole time, the sneer at the end and could not help the bark of laughter that erupted out of him.

"I get it. I get what is bothering you so much. It's not my job, how I look, it's none of that, not really, there's something bigger. Are you ashamed because I'm with a man?"

The very mention of it brought back that revulsion and he scooted his legs a little, that was all he could do to show his glee in figuring it out because holy hell, what a fucking thing to be disappointed about. Out of everything he has done in the past, the fights, the drugs, the murders, this one little fact of his life was fucking with his head the most.

"It's a sin, Castiel."

"Well, I'm not a fan of religion, though I'm almost certain beating someone like this is what's a sin."

A slap to the face was delightful, too, like everything about this was delightful and well, why the hell not, why not be crude and get under his skin, fit a role, that was it, why not?

"What do you call it, sodomy? That's what you say, isn't it, sodomy is a sin? Fancy word for being _fucked in the ass,_ don't you think? Think I should get on my knees and beg for forgiveness, for all the times I've done it? Let's see, there was Elijah, Nathaniel, Inias… oh, and of course all the nameless men I-"

The slam of his head against the column was disorienting rather than anything else, he had to take a deep breath and blink pretty hard and rapidly in order to ascertain that everything was still as it should. What great, great slurs he was using, this was 2020, he would think that this whole homophobia thing would be not over, but less than this. He was always stuck in the past, obviously, with what he was saying. Taking a deep breath, he nearly rolled his eyes at the end when he honestly demanded, "What do you have to say for yourself?" Like he was some child that broke a vase or something equally ridiculous.

"First off, I'm not homosexual. I'm utterly indifferent to sexual orientation. Secondly, if you really want to base it on the concept of it being two males, you're still wrong. I have a penis, it doesn't mean I'm a male."

"Then you're saying you want to be a girl? I've told you countless times, you're not a girl, Castiel. You never will be. You were born a boy, you are a boy, nothing else. Boys are meant to be with girls, not other boys."

"No, I'm not a female either. It's a rather simple concept, though given sodomy is this alien, sinful concept to you, I don't think I'll bother trying to explain. I will tell you this little conversion technique, trying to beat it out of me? It isn't going to work. I've experienced enough that anything you say or do isn't going to do a thing. Not for who I am, who I chose to love, not a single damn thing about me."

The thing about this absolute stain on the world is he enjoyed when people bent to his will, did what he said, submitted to his words, believed them. Castiel had enough of that growing up, enough of being confused about why people said what they did about him, enough of wondering if he was broken in more ways than one, enough of all of it. These words he spat at him, they were nothing but the recycled filth from the past and tweaked a little, they were the words he heard in his head far too often, so much so that hearing them in person was no different by the point.

All his answers, therefore, were only serving to piss him off, he was scowling and glaring at him before he abruptly stepped back, smug as if he had the answer.

"Very well. If it won't work for you, I'll take him from you, you'll learn soon enough."

"Won't work. I already took him away from myself, did you think I would be careless enough not to consider you'd do this? And, even if you try, you won't get far, he'd catch you coming miles away and you wouldn't want to put the good twin at risk either, would you?"

Defiance quite enough for him, he got a punch for his trouble before the man left him be and the ATC allowed his head to remain hung, eyes closed, cracking his jaw to make sure it was still all intact and waiting to no longer hear him around. When it was safe, he cracked his eyes open, looking at where he felt the chain and pendant press against his chest.

"Was he always this bad? I often wonder what you saw in him, Mother," his tongue felt around his mouth, feeling nothing that demanded immediate attention, not yet, which was good, and huffed out a laugh, "I know you'd hate how I look right now, I'm a mess. It's okay, though, it'll be over soon."

Of course there was no answer and Castiel still felt his eyes begin to sting, kind of noteworthy, he supposed, since he did not tear up the whole time he was here. However, this was different, this actually hurt, this hurt more than how he had rubbed the tips of his pointed fingers raw with the ropes or the hits. He tried to laugh again, play it off, ignore the hitch in his voice because it happened every time he talked to her, simple whispers because she was there and close, ever since he received the necklace.

"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry. You know that, don't you? You'd always call me your angel, no matter what and I… I don't deserve that. It hurts, Mother. It hurts so much and I don't… this is the only way. Nothing else works, so I… I have to do this. I'm not sorry about this, about doing this. I'm just… I'm sorry for hurting Jimmy, for hurting Dean. I would've liked…"

He would have liked to have stayed in Lawrence with Dean, he would have liked to have called his mother and talked to her, he would have liked never to have done drugs, he would have liked never to have that stain to call his father, at least biologically, there were so many things he would have liked and instead, he was sitting here, tied up, bleeding and talking to his mother's ashes, he threw away his relationship with Dean and walked away from his brother, and it has to be done because sacrifices were made, everyone had to make them, they were necessary to complete the mission.

So, Castiel gave up on the "would have liked" since he was never going to get any of it again and gave another hoarse chuckle.

"I suppose it doesn't matter, I'm not going to survive this. You believe in Heaven, you always told me. Even if I believed, though, I'm sure I wouldn't see you, I'd go to Hell for all I've done."

Castiel knew that already, had for a long time.

Resting his head against the column, he took a deep breath, willed away the burn in his eyes, pretended he could grab the pendant and started singing softly.

_"You are the sky, the moon at night. You are my life, a shining light. These things I've learned are never ending stories we will tell… you don't know what a song you sing, you don't know how much joy you bring…"_

And really, Castiel never thought he "would have liked" not to be damned if he believed, the chances were long gone, so he did not cry, did not lament, not really, it was necessary and set already.

_"You are my angel, angel, asleep inside your halo, halo, I'm right beside you…"_

No, Castiel simply sang the song mother always did for years since she first heard it, said it reminded her of the twins, and he accepted his fate.

_"And you know, you know how much you're loved. I know you forever you'll be my angel…"_

Because if he was going to fall, he might as well take the other with him.

\---

When Gabriel thought fuck it, he was going to use his phone, it would be a couple days by the time he checked, he genuinely believed that. Cross his heart and swear to pie, he did, he thought he knew all of that dick's schedule by this point, when to expect what, what to say, he had it all laid out in his head, for years now.

Having finished his phone call, mostly with Dean because Jimmy was temporarily down for the count, he said he would explain it all to him once he came out of the bathroom and they would go through with it as soon as possible, he needed to call a few people beforehand. He waited this long, he could wait a little longer. Soon enough, it was time to go home, Lucifer's mom dropped them off and it was supposed to be an average Saturday, same as always. Such failed to be so when he opened his door and saw the guy looking through his computer.

It was one of those moments were time seem suspended or some shit, he heard Samandriel whimper behind him and clutch onto his jacket, he knew he was staring, he knew the guy ceased what he was doing to turn and look at him, yet… it felt like none of it was happening, like he was stuck with his hand on the knob, taking in this sight.

If only.

"Gabriel."

He was standing in front of him now and he blinked, snapping out of his daze and it was reaction to move one hand back some to feel his brother was still there, which he was, face pressed into his back, but there.

"Yes?"

"I said, give me your phone."

Oh fuck.

"It isn't charged, I can leave it charging and take it to you after, save you the trouble."

A poor attempt at an excuse, no excuse was going to work and if he kept insisting, he would take it by force because he would suspect him of wrongdoing. Not that he believed it was wrongdoing, it was more saving his brother and himself from all of this and still, that would be exactly what he would think.

"I have your charger. Now, your phone."

Whatever those two had planned, it better be quick, it had to be now, this moment, there was no way in hell this was going to end well if they did not arrive and whilst he thought he could take it, Samandriel would not. Gabriel worked so hard not to set the guy off too bad, his brother would be so depressed and in a bad head space whenever he fucked up and suffered his wrath, this was going to be worse than all that combined.

He was never the God loving type, could never find Him, but he prayed to whoever the hell could hear him as he handed his phone over that they would come before he realised anything. Once the guy had it, he side stepped out of the way, careful to keep his brother behind him the whole time and ushered him into his room.

"Gabriel, why is he mad face? I haven't-we haven't done anything wrong!"

The wails and arms fluttering about had him cursing internally, he was having such a good day, kneeling in front of him and taking his hands.

"Hey. Hey, lil bro, you're okay, alright? You didn't do anything wrong. You drew and you danced and you had fun, that's good. That's very good, that's the best. And I need you to calm down and put your stuff away, okay?"

It took some convincing, the boy eventually going with it and leaving to his room, time which he took to head downstairs as quietly as he could to avoid being detected. At the basement door, he glanced around to check he was not in sight or an earshot and rapped quietly on the door.

One, then three.

He waited, biting the inside of his lip. Please do not be dead, please do not be dead…

Five thumps in the same rhythm and that was enough of an answer for now, heading back up to his room to see Samandriel standing there again.

"How about I teach you some more chess, huh? Then I can read you your book."

They ended up getting as far as halfway through the game when Gabriel knew what was coming and he panicked. The two were still not here, Samandriel was here, this should not be happening.

"Hide and seek."

Any faster in scrambling up, the boy would have been The Flash and he was grabbing his hand to lead them into his room already. Immediately, they went to the wall and Gabriel knelt down, his brother scrambling to get on his shoulders before he lifted him up enough so he could slap his hand on the small door that slid open. Grunting softly as he gave him the extra boost he needed to clamber inside, the teenager looked up at him, seeing the tears and fear, able to do nothing more than smile to reassure him.

"It's okay. It'll be okay. I promise. Cover your ears and sing your song until I can come get you."

What a shitty reassurance and it hurt to not know whether it was true right now because he believed him, he nodded and was about to close the door.

"I love you, Gabriel."

"Love you too, kiddo."

The moment he got out, he got up to where the stairs were and fuck, he was too slow, the guy was already standing in his way and boy, did he look pissed.

"What did you do, Gabriel."

"I… snuck in cookies."

Not a total lie, he was always bitching about not eating too many treats.

"You know that's not what I'm talking about. Who did you call."

"Someone from school."

"And this someone has a phone number with a different area code?"

"Transfer student, look it up, you might find it interesting."

Wrong thing to say, the absolute worst and he had already grabbed onto his arm tight enough to cut circulation, yanking him to his room and fuck, the force of it and how he threw him inside, hitting the corner of his desk and stumbling, it was a goddamn blur. He had already lifted his arms to shield his face, not bothering getting up from how he fell, half sitting, half lying there.

"Wait! Wait, don't!"

Pleas with no weight to them, Gabriel kind of said them to say them, maybe the guy would pity him, think he was feeling bad, it might not be as bad as it could. A sharp blow along his side said no, he was not, he grunted at the burn and lingering throb.

"Tell me what you were doing, Gabriel. It doesn't have to be like this. You've behaved so far, don't fail for something petty like this."

Oh, he knew it did not have to be like this, the guy could be less of a dick, and he was not going to open his mouth and spill everything in a moment of weakness, to relieve the pain. Between this pain being the possible last or it continuing, the former was more favourable.

So, he listen to the snaps of the belt, felt them and it was everything for however long it lasted, it was so easy to get lost in it, try and predict the next lash, biting back noises, taking a ragged breath in when the hits stopped. Faintly, with the lack of noise, he heard sounds downstairs, like… thuds and a voice.

Castiel?

Hell of a voice if it was travelling from the basement enough to barely be heard up here, it sounded like background more than anything, but still. The guy only spared the sound a second the turned back to him.

"Tell me now, Gabriel."

"… N-no."

His eyes had clenched shut already, waiting for the blows to start again.

They never came.

What did come was a knock at the front door that caused him to lower the belt. The teenager could not care less who was there, the Jesus people, Girl Scouts, a dude whose car broke down, whatever, it got him to stop and exit the room, allowing him the luxury of dropping his arms and gasping for air, staying in the little foetal position, a small blessing, stretching out would hurt too much.

Straining to listen, he heard the guy's voice, the thumps and shouts had stopped, and another voice, a male.

"… help, Father, please."

Jimmy?

Gabriel laid there, picking up bits and pieces and this time, he was able to see the time pass by–seventeen minutes–until he was able to heave himself up, wincing at how it felt to finally stretch all the way and make his way to the entrance of his room. Peering out, he made his way down the hall, hunched over a little with an arm wrapped around his waist, taking care to not inhale too deeply and aggravate it any more. When he got to the top of the stairs, just shy of Samandriel's room, he heard a loud shattering–some kind of porcelain–and a bodily thud, followed by another solid whump and a voice that he felt could rival the guy's in how threatening it was. More so, even, because he knew what the guy was capable of, he had no trouble in putting it out there.

This was… scary, unpredictable, he could not tell what was going through his head, and fuck, maybe Jimmy was an emotion volcano in a different way than he thought, there were plenty of maybe's and mostly, he was just glad as shit that it was directed towards someone who deserved it.

"I swear to God, say one more ill word about my brothers, I will plunge this in your throat."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's that. What happened to set Jimmy off that badly at the end, that'll be in the next chapter, their plan, and the beginning of the end, I'd say. 
> 
> Songs, the ones Castiel sang. Howl by Florence and the Machine, Shut Me Up by Mindless Self Indulgence, and Angel by Scarlett Cherry. The last song, I know it can be interpreted a number of ways, depending who listens, who sings it to who, all that makes it possibly romantic, sad, just love. So, that's what it is, just love, familial, happy song turned kind of sad now. 
> 
> And, I'm hoping this sheds more light on how Castiel is handling it all. Yes, he's still single-minded in getting rid of Bartholomew, he's still done and said some pretty terrible things, but he's not doing it for kicks, he is genuinely hurting, he still does search for comfort in ways he can that won't hurt anyone he cares about.
> 
> The way Gabriel knocks and the answer he gets in return, the specific number and all, if you've read It Takes Two, it might make more sense why it's so important, what it manages to communicate. 
> 
> Any more notes, I'll add later.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This whole thing went from bad to worse and this was not in the plan at all. If only there was an abort button and they could try again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter and other side of everything that happened along with the conclusion of this particular situation. Everything is kind of everywhere and I apologise about that, it hasn't been a good week. 
> 
> I don't think there are any warnings here to put that aren't already in the tags. I didn't make anything explicit, I think, because that might be upsetting to some. 
> 
> Enjoy.

"Alright… yeah. We'll have something by tonight, Charlie's good at what she does."

"Sounds good then. He checks my stuff usually around seven Monday morning, before I leave to school, so you better have something good, Dean-o."

Even if Dean wanted to tell him not to call him that, the teenager hung up already. Frowning at the device, he shook it off and turned his attention to the bathroom.

So, emotion volcano, huh?

That was a new way to put it and fitting, too, he supposed. It was also unlikely he was going to come out in the next few seconds. Alright, he could have his time, no problem at all, the mechanic would simply get started on his own and catch him up once he was ready. First, Sam. It was Saturday, his brother should not be doing anything anything terribly important right now. On the fourth ring, he picked up.

"Dean?"

"Hey. I need your help."

He liked to think that ever since the whole being framed for Ruby's murder and everything that followed, he learnt enough to at least make the effort to ask for help when it was out of his control and it was not a super big risk or anything he was going to ask him to take.

"What's up?"

"A lot. Cliff notes version, I'm in Raleigh, Jimmy and Cas have two younger brothers, their dad is an abusive ass who has Cas in his basement, so I need you and that lawyer brain of yours here to help work out a way that they can take them in, become their legal guardians and shit."

"… Okay. Wow. Well, I obviously can't take the case if that's what it comes down to, I'm not licensed there, but I can go over and help build a strong case against him. I'll tell Jess and I'll take the first flight over."

"Cool."

"And Dean? Don't do anything stupid."

Everyone was hanging up on him right when they said something he did not like, what jerks, giving him no time to give a snarky response. Whatever, their loss, not hearing his wittiness, Charlie would appreciate all of it.

"You want me to hack into a company?"

Or, maybe she would not.

"Yeah. The one Bartholomew works at, Gabriel says there's something shady about it and it might help put him away and then Cas and Jimmy can take them in."

He knew it was a lot to ask, who knew what the fuck "shady" meant, what if it ended up being some horrible drug trafficking operation or some shit, that would really be taking a shit on their lives, he would start to think they were magnets for anything relating to drugs, they could be a wonder for the DEA.

"Alright… I'll do it. But, I'm expecting compensation when you get back."

"The convention coming up, I'll buy you anything you want."

"Sweet!"

She definitely appreciated him more.

His time until Jimmy came out of the bathroom was spent flipping through channels on the television, not finding anything super interesting. The male had sat down on the bed, hand running through his hair.

"Sorry."

"No problem, man. You good?"

"Yes. I just… we need to get Cas out of there and Gabriel and Samandriel. Bartholomew is…"

Either that really took a toll on him or he was trying not to get mad again, focused on his wedding band and twisting it. Whatever the reason, Dean saved him the trouble of forcing himself.

"Yeah, he's a douche. I called Sam and Charlie, they're helping out. It might take awhile, though."

Hardly agreeable and Jimmy shook his head, "None of them may have awhile left, they've all been through enough!" His brothers, God, what had they all gone through, why did he not go through that, what made it so that he was never one of his targets, why, he was not anything special, goddamn it!

"I get it, alright? You want to help them, they've been through some shit, terrible shit. But, buddy, you got to take a look at yourself, you might see that you've been through a good amount, too, and it's affecting you now, maybe it always has been and you've blamed yourself."

Looking up from his ring, eyes squinted, he had no idea what he was trying to tell him.

"What?"

"Five years I've known you and I figured, you and Cas, you aren't as different as people say and think. You got lots of guilt, don't you? Guilt, anger, depression and you had tons of pressure on your shoulders to be the 'good twin,' didn't you? Forced into, really, same way Cas was forced into being the 'bad twin.' Who do you think started that? Sure as hell wasn't your mom. All these high expectations placed on you since you could walk and still trying to get people to see Cas was a good guy, too, and you think you failed him."

Jimmy did not like this conversation anymore, he turned back to his ring and focused on it, but Dean kept going.

"The guy protected you since you two could babble, kept doing it growing up because he chose to, but I'm guessing you saw it different, right? You couldn't defend yourself without losing control, he did what you couldn't with more restraint and it made him look worse and you better. And I think you could never get a handle on this because of Bartholomew, it's only gotten worse as you've gotten older. It's got to be like what Cas can't get out of his head, that he's a bad person, he's the bad twin. What did he tell you growing up, huh? What did he get stuck in your head that hasn't gone away?"

He felt the tightness in his chest and thrumming in his head increase, more and more and more, until it all snapped in him, pinballing in his ribcage and he threw himself at the other, snarling and hands loosely wrapped around his throat, faint words he could no longer understand in the back of his mind, words he never bothered with because they were probably just always there.

"Shut up! Shut up, shut up, _shut up!_ You don't know a thing about me!"

Dean was staring calmly up at him, "Really? Because I think I know you well enough, Jimmy, to know that you wouldn't be doing this unless someone put it in your head that it was the best thing to do since you were a tyke." The man glared down at the mechanic, the words slowly sinking in and once they did, once he felt the other swallow under his hands, everything, he could not have scrambled off any faster if he tried, hands over his mouth, horrified.

"Oh God. _Oh my God._ Dean, I'm _so_ sorry. I don't know why… I thought…"

What was he thinking?

Was he angry? Why did he do that? What did he do to him?

Dean merely sat back up, shaking his head.

"It's not your fault. I pushed you, wanted to prove a point. He's done a number on all of you, from what Gabriel told me he and Samandriel have been through. So, yeah, I get you want to get them all out right now and we will, but you have to go in knowing you're not immune to it all, he's gotten under your skin and he can probably do it again if you don't watch out."

"Are you insane? I could've choked the life out of you and you did it to 'prove a point?'"

The man grinned as he stood up and made his way to him, patting his shoulder.

"Isn't the first time a Novak tried to choke me to death, I think I can handle it. Now, we need to plan a way to get in and out as quick as possible."

This plan was something he did not enjoy at all and he bit down on his cheeks the whole drive to keep from saying anything, fidgeting in his seat and attentive to his wedding band the entire time. The other parked a street before, both exiting and he was already shifting his weight repeatedly as soon as he was out.

"You good to do this?"

"Yeah, I'm good."

Actually, not really, but it was needed, it would help his brothers, he could do this. This was something he could do, he could control himself enough to do this, all he had to do was remember what Dean told him, follow it to the tee and by the time he would leave, they would be safe. About three houses down, Dean stopped walking with him and disappeared behind a tree, though he knew he was still watching and okay, that was reassuring.

Reaching the house, he gnawed at his bottom lip before lifting a hand and knocking on the door, the feel of it making this a little more real and grounding and he had the strongest urge to hit his head against the door when it opened up, Bartholomew on the other side, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"James?"

Jimmy stared, wide eyed, mouth dry, voice lodged in his throat and he was supposed to say something, something that he had trouble remembering now because too many things were going through his head at once. This was for his brothers, they needed to be safe, he could do this for them.

"I need your help, Father, please."

Hopefully he sounded desperate enough, he heard his voice crack, that probably helped because the man stared at him for a long time before nodding and moving aside to let him in. Stepping in, he had a small chance to examine the area and then he was asking him to follow, which he did because he was supposed to fulfil this role of a good son who listened. They were in the kitchen now, his father requesting he sit at a chair by the small island and he complied.

"What is this about, James? I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

"Uh, well… it's Castiel."

He saw him pause momentarily then continue rummaging through the refrigerator, "What about your brother?"

"I need… I need your help with him. Mo-Naomi… she died, a week ago, and he's lost his way. I'm afraid, of what he's become, of what he's capable of, I lost track of him when he arrived in Raleigh and I thought… I thought you could help me? I don't know what to do, I'm scared he's going to hurt someone, he never listens to me anymore."

All foul lies he detested. Well, the losing his way, not so much, everything else was. Scared he would hurt someone, he could not locked away, so that was no longer a concern. Bartholomew had set down some plates and was getting some bread. At least he had some sense of properly receiving guests, or was this something else? Jimmy had no idea, paying more attention to how he reacted.

"I'm sorry to hear Naomi passed," Jimmy felt like that was false, horribly, disgustingly, insultingly false and had to push down the bubble of rage, "And your brother was always so reckless, I don't doubt he's gone and done something stupid."

The sheer lack of subtlety was like ice water dumped on him.

Was he always this way?

"Yes, well, I thought… since you know the city better and with your connections from work, you have a better chance than I do finding him."

Bartholomew hummed as he put together the sandwiches, "I may be able to locate him. First, why don't you tell me about how you've been? It's been nearly thirty years, after all."

Hands hidden, he continued fiddling with his ring, not wanting to tell him a thing, this was not in the plan, not in the script, but this might give him more time with him, that meant they would have more time to get out.

"I've been well. Been married for fifteen years, I have a little girl, Claire, insists she's big now, being thirteen."

"Thirteen? She might get along with Gabriel, he's sixteen. Of course, I wouldn't want to put her with such a bad influence."

No subtlety at all, Jimmy stabbed blunt fingernails into his fingers, feigning a smile.

"Oh, you have another son?"

"Two. Samandriel is six. He acts like an infant still, but he's learning."

What the hell was his problem? He could hardly believe that this was the same man who raised him, who rarely said a bad word towards him, how was he so stupid to completely miss this all those years and never consider it after, he was horribly blind.

"Children develop at different paces, yes. Claire liked to crawl into bed with Amelia and I until she was eight because she thought there were monsters in her closet."

A plate was set down in front of him and this felt too much like before, eating alone with him and Castiel was elsewhere because of this man and he would always remember what his brother would say, not to do anything with his hands or anything because it made him angry, so he thanked him and picked up the sandwich to occupy himself, taking a bite to prevent from saying anything to give himself away.

"At the very least, she sounds like she behaves, she'll grow up normal, just like her father. I'm sure you don't expose her to anything or anyone wrong, like your brother."

More of the sandwich went in, his cheeks puffing from the overload in it, the mustard was too tangy, the mayonnaise felt disgusting, everything was disgusting and he chewed and swallowed either way, trying to remind himself to follow the plan.

"Castiel is… a part of Claire's life, though not as active as could be, living in a different state."

"Oh? What a shame, he hasn't put any thoughts in her head, has he?"

"Thoughts?"

More of the sandwich, it was almost gone, crap, what was he going to use after?

"Blasphemous ones. Surely, you know of his indiscretions, I remember seeing him on the news, you as well. I imagine he stayed with that man, the one he was seen with."

All of the sandwich was gone.

"I… do know he's in a relationship with a man, yes. I don't understand how that is blasphemy."

Crap, he said the wrong thing, he said the damn wrong thing, but that was something he could not lie about, he saw nothing wrong with it and when others used religion as a reason for it being wrong, he simply did not understand. God loved everyone, a sexuality other than heterosexuality was not a one way ticket to Hell.

"It's a sin. You must know that. I can't believe that you wouldn't know that, James. It's alright to be honest, I won't tell you you're wrong," Jimmy stared on, mortified that he would insinuate he was saying this simply to be nice, to not sound like he was wrong or inconsiderate towards his brother and he went on, "I always told you, you are the good one, not like Castiel. I could always trust you would do the right thing."

Something about this was nauseatingly familiar, his hands falling limp on his lap as he watched the other in a daze because what was happening, what was this, why was this like reliving something all over again? He listened to these nasty words about Castiel, about how he was better, and then about his other brothers, how he was better than them, lost on what to do.

What was he doing?

The more he talked, the more confusing this got, the more his head hurt, itching, itching so much, and those words, the ones buzzing in his head, they still were intelligible and yet not, at the same time. It was becoming too much, his head was going to implode, _make it stop,_ stop saying all these horrible things, he was not better, those words, what were they saying, he needed to get him to stop, just stop, shut up, _get rid of him!_

That same feeling in his chest, in his head, all it took was a glance at his plate before he picked it up and swung it against his head as hard as he could, the plate breaking and Bartholomew stumbled back. No chance, no chance at all to give him an opening and he kicked him, knocking him down and following to sit on him, the piece of plate still in his hand pressed against his throat.

"I swear to God, say one more ill word about my brothers, I will plunge this in your throat."

Bartholomew looked too smug for having a sharp piece of porcelain pointed at him, chuckling, "I knew it. You're trying to help him, aren't you? Such a shameful act, James, I'm surprised you would do something so low. Of course, you'd never kill me."

"Try me, I dare you."

"Do you think you're capable of murder? You think you can get that in deep enough to kill me, stop me from pulling it out, hold me down, watch the life drain out of me, have that on your conscience? You act as if more sanctimonious than your own father, but kill me, you're no better than me."

Every word loosened his hold on the porcelain, widened eyes filling to the brim with fear because no, he was not like his father, not at all, he was horrible, terrible to his family, he was not like that, he never would be.

"You've always made me proud, James, followed in my footsteps, what better way to take the final step?"

The terror of that had him dropping the plate, becoming aware of what he was doing and a whispered, _"… No,"_ was all he got out before he got a palm to his nose, crying out and falling off of the other, hand clutching his nose as he tried to get back up. Bartholomew already had, plate piece in hand and he lifted his hands up.

To defend himself, that was it, that was all he needed to do, he could do this.

He could, right?

\---

Castiel was able to hear an adequate amount from his spot in the basement. With how he was situated, he could at least hear when someone was moving around and make an educated guess where they were going, room wise, not that he knew every exact room, though it helped.

As he had finished talking to his mother, he took a very short nap, consisting of merely keeping his eyes closed but it was better than nothing and he remained alert enough to be prepared if he came back down. The thing he did not like about this was that he could feel all the results of the blows he received and there was nothing he could do. His right eye felt a little puffy, although he could still open it, so that was good, right? His mouth was a little worse off, no doubt it was an unpleasant sight.

Having listened to noises around him, he heard two pairs of footsteps, so it must be around six or so. When Gabriel had said he was leaving, he also said when he was coming home. Then, it was doubtful he was going to come back down here and he worked on the ropes whatever way he could, irked at the lack of resources around him. If the floor was wood, this would be a lot easier.

A sudden burst of muffled footsteps had him glancing up at the ceiling–like that would help, he could not see through it–and eyes narrowed. What was going on? Another set of footsteps, up the stairs, and it all started to click when the steps started again and there was a thump.

"Hey! You bastard, listen! _Listen to me!"_

His shouts got louder and more profane, bringing up his legs to hit his feet against the concrete noisily, not giving a damn how the shocks travelling up his feet were bordering on painful or how he was pushing his voice to the limit shouting, cracking every so often. He stopped only to take a breath of air and was ready to start again when he heard steps descending.

He must have heard him. Any other time, he would have felt horrible about the profane things he said, he respected the religion for what it was, regardless if he did not believe, but it was the only thing he could think of to make him mad enough to come down and strike him instead. It was not difficult to put together that was what he was doing, he remembered even twenty-nine years later and he had not changed in thinking of anyone was going to take that, it would be him, his brothers, no matter if he barely knew of them a day ago, were meant to stay safe.

Yet, the door did not open, not this one. A door did open, another one, and someone else was here, walking with that stain. No amount of concentration was going to help him pick out voices, so he put it into the ropes. Five minutes in, he heard soft creaks above him, alerting him of a new person. A person trying to be undetected, if anything, making his way around and the ATC eventually heard the locks being picked, not taking his eyes off the door as the knob turned as quietly as it could and light poured in, making him squint to try and see who it was. When they shut the door and came down enough stairs, his eyes widened.

_"Dean?"_

Dean was here, his own eyes pretty round, no doubt at the state of him and an odd sort of emotion flickered through his eyes before he knelt down beside him.

"Jesus, Cas, it's only been about a day and a half since I last saw you, you're getting sloppy."

"What're you doing here?"

"Saving your ass, apparently. Gabriel tipped us off."

The mechanic had already pulled out a pocketknife, cutting the ropes at his ankles then moving to the others. Castiel was moving his legs to get back feeling to them when he actually thought about what was said.

"Gabriel? You've spoken to him?"

"Yeah. Him and Samandriel. Gabriel knows, by the way, that you're brothers. Don't think he's told Samandriel yet."

Freed from the ropes, Castiel brought his arms forward, rotating his shoulders and rubbing his wrists. Good enough for him, he pushed himself up, not the best of ideas, the head rush had him toppling over, the other catching him before he fell.

"Don't move so fast, I'm guessing you haven't eaten at all or slept much and with that blood all over, you're not at the top of your game. Now, let me look at your face."

Two fingers tipping his head up, Castiel stared at Dean as he examined him, tilting his head when instructed and what was going on? Dean was supposed to leave, he said everything he needed to so he would leave, he picked every single word he said that would impact him the most, he should be away from this. Yet, here he was, handling him with all this care and he did not get it, not at all.

"Dean… why are you here?"

That got him to stop, emeralds boring into him, any emotions hidden away from him, then the man shrugged.

"I made a promise. That still means something to some people."

Well, not uncalled for, though it still stung to hear.

Noise suddenly starting up above them, they both looked towards the door and Dean was already motioning him to follow. No prompting was really needed, he was one step behind him, out the door and hurrying over to the source of the noise. As they did, he caught sight of Gabriel at the top of the stairs and Dean stopped only for a second.

"Call 911, keep your brother safe."

Gabriel was staring at him, eyes big and surprised at how he looked before turning to Dean and nodding, disappearing into a room.

Good, they were safe, but the one who was not ended up being Jimmy. The moment Castiel entered the kitchen, there were a few important clues he had. A broken plate, that stain had some cuts on his face, his brother had a light trickle of blood coming from his nose, a more noticeable amount from the diagonal slash across his chest, and was currently a mess of twitching limbs, feet kicking uselessly and trying to touch the floor as he clawed at the other's hands around his throat.

That was all Castiel caught the moment he entered and was all he needed to act, though before he could, Dean had done so already, crashing into the other. Jimmy had collapsed in a heap on the floor, gasping in raspy breaths of air and Castiel was already next to him, taking off his jacket to press to the cut. It did not seem deep, but any bleeding was too much, it was not right.

"Jimmy, are you hurt anywhere else?"

"… N-no. No… I'm fine."

His gaze flicked between his brother and Dean, who was holding his own against that stain, though he seemed to miscalculated how good the other was at hand to hand. Dean had given him the chance to take his brother way and that was exactly what he was going to do, supporting him once he was standing up and walking towards the stairs.

"Gabriel! Jimmy needs help!"

"Cas… you know, you were right."

"I'm right about a lot of things, you'll have to be more specific."

It got him a short laugh and a smile, which was good, his brother being amused was good, always.

"He's a real jackass."

Gabriel had already come down the stairs and Castiel allowed him to take Jimmy, about to leave when a hand grabbed his.

"What do you plan to do?"

Well, killing him was on the priority of things to do. It was his mission, it was the only thing that mattered, that was it, it had to be. Something had intervened, they should be removed as soon as possible, that was how it should be, how it was meant to be, they were never meant to be here.

Disposing of that stain was the mission, it should be completed at once.

His answer, however, was, "I made a promise, I intend to keep it."

He promised to keep him safe, always, no matter what. He had bled, had bones broken, nails ripped, stopped using, almost drowned, he had even killed to keep to that promise. He said horrible things he never meant to have him stay away because that was how he would be safe. His mission, it would never be complete if Dean was not safe, if he was risking himself for this, this was his task and his alone to complete.

And if keeping him safe also got rid of that stain, all the better for him.

Except, it might not be that way because the scene he was greeted with was a horrible one and he had less than a split second to react.

_**"No!"** _

Dean really hated how the brain worked sometimes. Because, why in the fuck did it think that the worst possible sights in the world were something they should commit to memory with practically perfect detail? Yeah, necessity to know it was bad, avoid it, adapt to survive, what the fuck ever, that did not mean jack shit right now because it was nothing he could avoid or stop from happening. A bullet meant for him, no way he could stop that, though guns would be associated with bad and he would avoid them. That, he was fine with that, never was the hugest fan of guns either way.

The body suddenly blocking him once the gun went off, there was no possible way he could stop that from happening and no matter how many shitty associations he had, he doubt he would ever be able to avoid or stop it, not his body, not his choice. All he could do was hear the shot ring out, the moment it hit and grunt that left Castiel's lips, he could feel him stumble back against him and the shock of it had him a damn limp sausage, falling along with the other, but not before his back cracked against the counter, his spine complaining that it had a lot better days.

"Cas!"

Kind of stupid to think about that when Castiel just _took a fucking bullet for him._

Only getting a glimpse from how the man landed on him, he could feel how his breath came out in short, strangled puffs and it was a stupid, stupid hope to think it might be due to the freaking hole through his outstretched hand. Right through his palm to the dorsal side of his hand where the bullet had exited the flesh was completely split open as if it was nothing more than fucking jello or something, blood pouring out and he could see through it, he could see where it entered, the muscle, inside stuff that should _stay inside_ and not visible, it went right through him.

Fuck, it was so stupid to think that the bullet might have quit there, that it just dropped to the floor once exiting, since when he shifted them so the other was lying down, receiving no resistance whatsoever, there it was, an entry wound at his chest a little off centre to the right. Knee jerk response was to place his hands over it to apply pressure, glaring up at that dick who had the gun lowered a little, surprise evident at how this had all gone awry.

"You bastard, what the fuck is wrong with you!"

This fucking jackass had the gall to look surprised, unsettled by who it was currently trying to steady their breaths before looking at him, blinking then scowling, gun raised once more.

"This is all your fault."

Before he could give him a good old "Fuck you," a blur of a body tackled him down and gave him the physical version of the words with a few solid punches. A blur by the name of Gabriel who seemed fine and dandy with what he was doing.

"That's for Samandriel and me," another hit, "that's for Jimmy," and finally, he grabbed him and slammed his head against the tile, "and that's for Castiel, you asswipe." It was a long time coming and he wished it felt better, that he had done it at a different time, not to keep him from honestly killing someone right in his own home, and being able to do nothing anymore but watch this scene unfold.

Dean could care less about that, keeping pressure and trying not to panic, instructing the man, "Keep your hand elevated, take deep breaths." And Castiel tried, he did, sucking in air haltingly and staring at him, cracking a tiny, twitching smile for a second or two.

"K-kind of… hurts…"

"No shit, look at you."

He would look if he could, at what was lodged in his chest, maybe not so bad since he was not unconscious or dead, his hand could have been a lot better off and the ATC shook his head what he could.

"Not… not this, it hurts… hurt less, honestly…"

The mechanic frowned, not wanting to think about what that meant, "Just shut up and focus on breathing, Gabriel already called, help is coming soon." His uninjured hand clumsily swatted around until grabbing onto his forearm.

"Tell him… tell Jimmy I'm sorry, okay? _… Please?_ Promise?"

"You tell him, once this is out of you and your hand isn't all fucked up."

Castiel continued on as if nothing was said, "And… and I'm sorry, for w-what I told you… _I'm so sorry…_ I didn't… I didn't mean it…"

"Yeah, Cas, I know. You were being a douche to beat a douche that turns his kids into these unhealthy emotion volcanos and you suck at erupting."

Not that he felt better about it or that it was something he would forget for awhile, it still fucking hurt, it hurt a shitload, he was acting kind of cold because of that, brushing him off and were it not for seeing the dick for himself and how awful he was, learning more about it all, seeing and hearing it for himself and how his brothers were, he might not be as willing to be so forgiving.

And, well, there was the fact that he took a bullet for him, one that was meant to kill him, he doubt he would do that if he did not care.

The other was having difficulty keeping his eyes open now and he was having none of that, "Cas, hey, hey! Keep your eyes open, stay with me." What a shitty time to be in a city like this, maybe there was lots of traffic or shit, he strained to hear any sirens. Unfocused azures gazed at him and the man smiled as much as he could, aiming for a gummy little smile and ended with spluttering up some blood, which terrified him because fuck, what a nightmare, too similar to his own.

Sirens, though, he could hear them getting closer and that told him it was not a nightmare.

"I'm so sorry… my sun and stars… my special, dear one… you are mine and I am yours… _always…_ you know… y-you know I… I love you, r-right?"

No.

No, no, no.

"Castiel, you listen to me. You focus on my voice and you stay awake."

This was not going to be some spin on his nightmares, the ones he had been having since they arrived in Raleigh, not this, this was fucking reality and they were all going to live, that was not going to be the last thing he heard from him, help was almost here, maybe a street off.

 _"I love you…_ just wanted you to know… I really do… so much…"

Believing help was almost here might be easier to believe if the strained words drifting off had not stopped altogether, the male's eyes rolling back and bloody hand falling limp.

_**"Castiel!"** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, what an ending for this chapter.
> 
> Fun fact. Or, not really fun, just a fact. My father used to be a police officer back in Mexico, youngest one to make captain at the time, so he really liked and knew all about guns. I'm the middle child of three, but I'm the one that isn't "normal" to them. I didn't start talking or walking at the usual age, but the moment I did and he thought I was aware enough of what was what, rather than help hone my motor skills by teaching me how to properly use utensils or write, he put a gun in my hand and taught me how to take it apart and put it back together, what the parts were called, everything about guns. I guess he hoped that what would catch my interest and I'd learn all about would be that rather than something he wouldn't approve of, maybe it was his only way to bond with me because I never communicated with anyone, who knows. But, by the age of five, I could take one apart in no time and I vividly remember every Saturday morning, waking up and eight o'clock on the dot, routine was handling a gun and looking through magazines he had of different kinds. His first "gift" to me, rather than a baby blanket or anything, was a pair of handguns that were his favourite, although he didn't tell me about them until I was eleven. So, not really fun, I guess, I'm not with the whole gun hype, just something that's fact.
> 
> The reason I mention this is because although I do know about guns and I'm fairly proficient at shooting them, I can't say I know how one reacts when being shot. I've seen accidental discharges and all, but everyone's different. I actually looked up different gunshot injuries, everything, to try and put together an accurate rendition, though it may still be rather off. Castiel's injury is based off of one I found an account for, pictures and all, where a bullet did go through the hand, it was something else to see. I did that because I wanted to make it realistic and because it also mentions what was done for it, so I have an idea of what to write. Kind of spoiler but not really, that Castiel's going to make it. I never put major character death, that was already kind of giving it away.
> 
> And, I think it really sucks for Jimmy, too. Since the last story was more touching on Dean and Castiel, it wasn't really shown what he thought in extensive detail or anything, and this story sort of is picking him apart more, showing he's not as well off as it seems, he's pretty messed up to by everything Bartholomew's done and it's sort of been something he's lived with, thinking it was just him all along. Trying to explain sounds better in my head, it's easier then annoying;;
> 
> I'll be posting the next chapter in a few days, hopefully.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreams can be scary, the same can be said about real life. Although someone can wake up from a dream, forget all about it, real life takes a little more work. And, well, the five of them, Dean thinks they can do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter, yay. 
> 
> I don't know if this chapter can necessarily be called a filled chapter, I don't think it is, it's kind of like first steps to recovery? Cleaning wounds, treating them, similar sorts of comparisons.
> 
> Not much for warnings. Not explicit mentions of injuries, blood and such.

"Jimmy, goddamn it, stand still."

"You're in a church, Cas, at least try not to say anything people are going to label you a heretic for."

"No one else is here. Except God, apparently, but I like to think I have an acceptable rapport with him as is. Now, hold still, damn it, you suck at this."

Nimble fingers worked, a triumph huff escaping Castiel once the bow was tied, stepping back to look at his brother.

"Why the hell did you choose a bow tie if you can't even tie a tie right? Every time I see you, it's crooked."

"I like pulling at it."

Castiel rolled his eyes at the childish tone, waving him off, "Just don't pull at this or else you're going to look like an idiot in your wedding photos and I'm going to point it out to your future children. Or, better, about your bachelor party and how your tolerance is amazingly low."

Jimmy blanched at the mere mention of it, "Ugh, _don't._ That put me off drinking for life. I don't know how you do it, much less when we were younger."

"We're twenty-one, Jimmy, that's hardly call to make us sound like we're ancient."

Moving back to double check that he had all the pieces to this ridiculously expensive suit, he straightened out his shirt then the jacket and hummed in response to the, "Fine, when we were fifteen." Because there was hardly anything else he could say to that. Six years ago, that was all it was, he should remember all of that with an impressive amount of accuracy, he had an amazing memory.

Just, drugs kind of screwed with those years. From fourteen to nineteen, nearly twenty, all his memories were like this goopy sort of mashed up concoction, snippets here and there, vivid scenes, others indiscernible, some too vivid and he wanted them not to be, those that he wished were always slipping through his fingers.

Sucked, honestly, but today was his brother's wedding day, he was not going to spoil it.

"Alright. Perfect. You have everything you need?"

"Yes."

Satisfied, the male chuckled softly.

"Damn. This is really happening. My little brother's getting married."

"We're twins, you ass."

"I'm still older, don't ruin this," Castiel grinned at the exasperated look he received before his grin melted into a soft smile, "I really am happy for you, brother. You and Amelia, you're meant for each other." He saw the colour rise to his cheeks as he looked away and coughed once, hands moving, open and close, and that was a good enough answer.

"Yeah. I love her. Can't believe day's finally here."

A knock at the door cut the moment off before it dissolved into lighthearted banter and in came Mother, gasping when she saw them both and going to Jimmy to hug him.

"Oh, angel, you're so handsome."

Obviously, Jimmy was terrible at knowing how to respond to compliments, even from their mother, always turning into this awkward bird that kept trying to fly and only succeeded in stumbling over himself somehow. It was entertaining to watch, at least when it did not give him second hand embarrassment at how he was as smooth as crunchy peanut butter. Often times, when Amelia and he first started dating, the thing he could recall was finding it the most amusing thing in the world when he would fumble after she said something sweet.

Who would have thought they would end up here?

Castiel kind of had a feeling, but now it was reality, they were all here, he was his best twin–his only twin, he told him, though Jimmy said best man was not fitting since he was not male, which alright, true, and it was his wedding, he could call him the best tea cup and he would go with it–he listened to the vows and he was almost ninety percent sure Jimmy was going to start crying before Amelia or at the same time, they kissed, it was fantastic and Castiel was happy about the fact that this was something he would always remember, the drugs could not take this away.

At the reception, he found Mother once more, watching the festivities go on and she was leaning against him some, arm linked with his.

"Aren't they lovely together?"

"Mm. They are, they make each other very happy, I'm certain it'll be like that for the rest of their lives." Castiel paused, eyes following their movements as they danced, a question nagging at him and who better to ask, "Mother… I did the right thing, didn't I? I lied to him, about what happened, about a lot of things, but it's alright, isn't it? It was to protect him and now he's happy, he doesn't have that burden on his shoulders."

A hand was placed on his, warm smile directed towards him.

"So long as you don't have to carry that alone, Castiel. He's gone, you're clean, everyone is healthy and safe, no reason to fret over it. How about you go dance, instead? I know Tess was looking for you, she's missed you."

"First crushes never seem to be forgotten."

That was how he found himself dancing with Tess, chatting and catching up, eventually settling on sitting at a bench, celebration going on and he was listening to her talk about what medical schools she wanted to go to, chuckling at the end.

"All these grand dreams, Tess, I don't know what you see in me. You could have a posh doctor or lawyer and you choose to mingle with someone with a horrible, crude personality aiming to be an air traffic controller that isn't going anywhere good. So the people say."

Tess was right at home up against him, one of his arms wrapped around her and it was habitual to be like this, they were very close. Close enough that Castiel never got in bed with her in those drug hazed years–thank God, most of his lays he could no longer remember–though enough that it was natural and hearing her confess her undying love was her way of saying she valued the relationship they had now, he did the same, in a different manner.

"A posh doctor or a lawyer wouldn't be able to defend me like you have, they'd be scared of ruining their recently manicured nails or getting dirty."

Castiel snorted, "They must have terrible manicurists, I can break a few bones and my nails still look perfect. I haven't been recently, I thought I shouldn't take from Jimmy, it's his wedding day, after all."

The musical sort of laugh he received was something that made him smile, he was glad he could do this for her, make her happy still. Obviously, they were no longer together, they had broken up around the age of thirteen. A good thing, he considered, what with the path he took in life, he would hate to have exposed anymore people to it than he already did. She took his hand and examined his nails, they were in fairly good shape, he thought, no need to go for a manicure before he came here, although Hannah wanted to go someday soon, they had some money in their splurge jar and Inias had already said yes.

Something to look forward to when going back, he decided.

"How long are you staying in Pontiac?"

"I'm leaving in the morning. If I stay any longer and end up missing class, my instructor might try and boot me off the flying team just to teach me a lesson in punctuality."

"Then we can't go out like before?"

"I'm afraid not."

Tess sighed and squeezed his hand, "Then how about a kiss for old time's sake?"

Castiel smiled at that, always, without fail, it was the same request and he would give the same answer.

"Anything you wish."

Their kisses were always chaste, throwing him back to elementary school, to times when he did not have so much filth and grime in him. What did not do that was the white hot pain bursting in his hand, like a poker heated to the melting point had speared through it, flecks of oozing metal melding into his skin, his muscle, his bone and he recoiled, up on in his feet in seconds with a shout, _"Fuck!"_ Crude, yes, especially at a wedding, but what the fuck, what was this, it was getting worse, the pain, and his hand looked fine.

At least, until blood started pooling up and dripping from his palm.

What the hell?

"Don't think about it, Castiel."

Tearing his eyes off the blood and using what remaining thought was not panicking about the blood and pain, he saw Tess standing right in front of him, utterly undisturbed and what in the seven circles of hell was going on?

Did she not see?

"W-what?"

"Ignore it."

It hurt too damn much to ignore it, he would like to see anyone else try.

And, obviously, she did see it.

"Just let go."

Let go?

"What're you-"

A sledgehammer to his chest, that was the only thing he could compare this feeling to and his air was slammed right out of his lungs, so abrupt that he stood there, stunned into a stupor. A blissful moment or two, nothing was felt, the initial pound and that was it. Then it all registered in his brain, the warm blood staining his dress shirt, his left hand touching the focal point of the blow and seeing the blood on his fingers.

What was happening to him?

Lungs constricting, he gasped for air, breaths sounding wet and he swore he could see his breath exhaled out, speckled with red or maybe that was a precursor, telling him he was going to cough up blood, which he did, carmine splatting onto the grass and _ow,_ fuck, every breath _burnt,_ like he had swallowed fire, suffocating him and he dropped to his knees, wheezing pathetically for air.

Those guys who swallowed torches and stuff, he really had to commend their bravery, a fucking inane thought if he ever had one.

"Let go, Castiel. You did your best, it's time to go now."

"Best… b-best of what?"

"You kept him safe. It's okay to let go now."

Tess knelt down in front of him and held her hand out and he was so confused, hacking up what felt like a fucking lung.

Why the fuck was no one coming?

Why was she not calling an ambulance?

Who was him?

"Safe? W-who?"

Was someone he knew in need of protection?

Safe… he was safe, someone had to be safe, he had to protect someone, no, he did protect someone, that was why it hurt, he thought, what had happened, who did he protect?

_I promise I'll protect you. Always._

A man, with eyes as green as the forest.

_You could be my sun and stars, I could be the moon of your life._

All the stars splattered across his cheeks, his nose, all over that Castiel treasured and a smile that was so radiant, it lit up his world simply picturing it.

_You are mine and I am yours, that is what matter to me, nothing else._

Memories of ill timed introductions and whirlwinds, smells of motor oil and leather, oatmeal underneath, maple syrup oatmeal, warmth and safety, a house shared, in a small town, a drive deep down to protect.

_Y-you know I… I love you, r-right?_

_"Dean."_

Another stab of pain and he groaned, nearly pressing his face to the grass as he had another coughing fit, blobs of blood forcing their way out.

"Come with me, Castiel. It's okay."

Dean.

All he could think about was Dean. Was he alright, was he safe, this pain, was it only his, did he get there in time, was the other stopped, what happened to Dean, fuck, this hurt so much, like dying at the slowest of paces in the most excruciating way possible, why had he not blipped out already, was Dean safe, was everyone safe, this hurt more than he could describe, Tess' hand was right there, maybe if he took it, would it stop, would this pain go, _were they safe, his brothers, Dean._

Fuck, _this hurt too much._

Hand shakily coming up as he straightened up what the pain allowed him, Tess extended hers out further, smiling kindly at him, her fingertips brushed his and Castiel scowled, blood everywhere be damned, pain be damned, and batted her hand away.

_**"No."** _

\---

Dean was tired of being asked if he was okay and if one more person came up to him asking anything along those lines, he was going to make certain it was a damn good thing they were in a hospital right now. Because his injuries were nothing, they were hardly even worth calling that. A bruise under his eye and by his jaw, a butterfly bandage by his eyebrow and he was golden, no real pain.

No real pain because the bullet meant for him was fucking lodged in Castiel's chest.

Whether it was the shock, the lack of sleep and food, blood loss, some mix of all of them, Castiel had lost consciousness and he had freaked right the fuck out, might have kept doing so if Gabriel had not clapped his hands right in his face, telling him to pull himself together and move since the EMTs and police were here. He did move away, terrified and this all was surreal, dragged easily enough by Gabriel to the stairs, where Jimmy was coming down, carrying Samandriel. The boy was crying, he could hear him, even with his face buried in the man's neck and he felt like utter shit. Even before the EMTs were taking Castiel out, the second Jimmy laid eyes on him, he has paled and he did not doubt that were it not for supporting his younger brother, he would have collapsed along with the quiet, "Oh God," that managed its way out.

There was the option, likely, of going in the ambulance with Castiel, family or whatever, though it was limited to one and they had all come to some silent agreement that none of them would, they all hopped into the Impala and he tore down the street after the ambulance, fuck possible tickets.

That seemed like hours ago.

Probably because it was.

Now they were able to do nothing but wait, a cop had already come by, asked them questions about what happened and pointless shit because it was not telling him how Castiel was, what was going on with him. Jimmy had been treated as well and Dean had taken off his flannel for him to wear, no one wanted to wear a cut open shirt with blood staining it. Samandriel was asleep, stretched out on a few chairs, head on Gabriel's left, the teenager absentmindedly stroking his hair, lost in thought. The mechanic glanced at the clock, four hours now, then looked at his hands.

They still had Castiel's blood.

He looked away.

"… Is it bad that I think I should've killed him?"

The mechanic did not need to know the guy as well as he did to know Jimmy was miserable, his eyes were red and swollen, lips pursed and the small frown at his brow may as well have been permanent with how it had not smoothed out since they sat down here.

"Probably. Morally or whatever. I'd have done it."

"What happened to doing it the legal way?"

"That was before."

Before the dick had a gun and did what he did, before he learnt more about him, just before.

They lapsed into silence for some few minutes.

"He told me I was following his footsteps, telling me to kill him, take that last step."

Dean frowned at that. What manipulative, toxic bullshit. There should be some sort of law or something, get dicks like him off the streets or at least deem him not fit to have kids and fuck them over every possible way.

"Yeah, well, way I see it, if killing someone is the 'final step,' you took it about five years ago, back at your house with that kid. Now, I don't know how many people he's killed or ordered killed, but I sure as shit can say it wasn't for family. You love your family, he just loved the power. I can't see any similarities, honestly. You guys don't even have the same eyes, they're more like your mom's."

Jimmy worked his jaw, swallowing thickly and reaching out to take Dean's hand, squeezing lightly and he returned the gesture. He needed it as much as the other did, as much as he hated to admit it. Emotions, they were real dicks sometimes.

"Thanks."

"Anytime, man."

An indeterminable–yeah, right, because Dean was not looking at the clock every minute–amount of time passed and they sat there, waiting, wondering, slowly being driven mad with the lack of updates.

"Mr. Novak?"

Jimmy may as well have almost broken his neck or gotten whiplash with how his head snapped up at the call, the doctor standing there and both Dean and he were up in a matter of seconds, awaiting the prognosis.

"Your brother is stable, he's being settled in now."

Oh, thank God. The weight was gone, the one crushing his chest, it felt a little easier to breathe and not risk throwing up every time he did, Castiel was alive, he was as alright as the situation allowed.

"Can we see him?"

There was no way he was going to take no for an answer and he highly doubt Dean would either, even Gabriel and Samandriel–if the boy were awake–would not accept that. Thankfully, the doctor said yes although he did turn to look at Gabriel before she led them off and the other shooed him off.

"Go. I don't want to wake him up yet."

That settled, the two of them followed the doctor and he saw his brother before Bartholomew fired off a round, the whole nearly being choked to death seemed to have blurred a few details. Blurred, he said, since he was not prepared at all when he saw his brother. He would never be prepared to see his twin laying in a hospital bed, with an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose, that little oximeter clipped to his finger, IV needle insert in the back of his left hand, listening to the heart monitor beep, never prepared to see that thing of packed dressing and splint elevated on a stockinette that was supposed to be his right hand or the stitches along his right eyebrow, area around his eye swollen some.

 _Never_ in a million years would he be ready.

It was a cruel, harsh slap of fear, seeing this, not nearly enough time from the last time he had to walk into a hospital room to see his family on the bed, unconscious, in this too sterile, stifling room. Last time, however, it was nothing someone caused, not like someone took a gun and shot Mother, not like Castiel.

Considering everything, he thought he was doing pretty damn well at remaining composed.

Dean thought so, too.

Dean also had thoughts flung so damn far into the homicidal spectrum, he would likely be concerned later on once this was settled. Those thoughts were shoved down as far as he could get them for now, addressing the doctor.

"How bad is it? His hand and everything."

It looked bad, there was always the hope that it might not be as bad.

"His hand is neurologically intact without any vascular injuries. X-rays showed a two centimetre bone loss of the fourth metacarpal, we placed a K-wire spacer for stabilisation."

She was saying more stuff, the dressing, the IV fluids, all that rattled in his head was that the fucking bullet shattered his bone, it was _fucking gone_ , the extensor or whatever that helped him flex and bend his finger was gone too, there was some type of _wire_ drilled in or placed in or whatever, what the fuck, holy fuck, what would have happened if Castiel had not held out his hand like that, it would have gone right through his chest or done some horrible thing if it stayed inside with that amount of force, played pinball with his organs.

The doctor was talking about his chest now, something about a tube, they stuck a fucking tube in him, they actually _cut him open and stuck a tube_ in him because they needed to drain out blood or something and he was one lucky fucker that it had not whizzed on through and struck clean through his lungs or any other vital area, it turned out his hand had taken most of the damage.

No shit, his hand was like a lump of dressings and a splint, he could only see the very tips of his fingers.

Nothing required any surgery right now, he was doing good, the usual, trying to be subtle "it's up to him now" speech doctors must have memorised the same way they probably had the Hippocratic Oath memorised.

Jesus fucking Christ.

They were left alone with him and the two kind of simply stood on either side of the bed, uncertain of what they could possibly say. Dean had something along the lines of "You careless asshole," and "Please wake up," yet nothing managed to be voiced. Time ticked by, he did not wake up, and at one point, Jimmy had sat down beside the bed, grabbed his hand with all the care he possibly could, mindful of the IV and oximeter when he cupped his brother's hand in between his own, closed his eyes and Dean figured he was praying, telling God to help or whatever people usually prayed about in these kinds of situations.

Dean thought if God really was there, he would never put this family through all of this shit.

Except Bartholomew, he deserved all the shit that was coming his way for being a complete dickwad.

The mechanic recalled there was some sort of saying, theory, thing out there that something along the lines of if one thought time was going slow, it really was not, it all went at the same pace, always, so time never stretched on for ages or passed in the blink of an eye, time went the same damn pace, it was all in the brain.

Einstein, he thinks, theory of relativity.

He was probably wrong.

He could also not care less if he was at the moment or be bothered with looking it up, who the fuck cared if he was doing nothing but sitting there, waiting for Castiel to wake up. Jimmy had left for the time being, not wanting to and only doing so because he thought his younger brothers needed actual beds to sleep in and food, things they all needed at the moment, really. It was a rare occurrence that he let others drive the Impala, meant only for people closest to him. Jimmy fit that criteria, he had not crashed it last time he drove, and hell, the kids did need some proper rest, so he did not put much thought into tossing him the keys.

They needed some time to themselves, anyway, brother bonding, telling Samandriel, things of that nature.

Dean had fallen asleep for a short time, alternating between sitting there with his arms crossed, resting part of his upper body on the bed, and slumped in the chair.

This chair sucked.

This hospital sucked.

This all sucked.

Actually, he took back the hospital sucking, the doctors helped Castiel out, did what they needed to. What sucked was needing to be there in the hospital in the first place.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he let out a long exhale, head tilted back.

"Damn it, Cas, _wake up._ You can sleep all you want later, you lazy ass."

There was no witty remark.

Dean stayed in this position so long, the back of his neck started aching, the stretch felt good, though, and he remained like this, eyes shut. A sudden jump in the beeping had his eyes snapping open and he looked over at the monitor for a second, seeing the numbers climb and then Castiel jerked some, gasping and eyes cracking open. His breath was considerably audible through the mask, fogging it up and Dean stared, gaping as the ATC's first act was assessing the room he was in and landing on him once he deemed the location safe.

Eyes squinted, his lips parted and he croaked out four words.

"You're not Doctor Sexy."

Dean let out some strangled noise between a laugh and some sort of sob that would mortify him any other time, hell if it did now because Castiel was awake, he was awake and talking and God, even as rough as his voice was behind the mask, it was so much better than just the monitor beeping or sounds from the oxygen mask. Dropping his head onto the bed out of sheer relief, he let out a long exhale, hand gripping on the ATC's forearm, right over his tattoo.

"Fucking hell, Cas, you're going to give me a heart attack one day."

"I'd prefer you not… I can't take that for you."

The mechanic lifted his head up and was met with a tiny grin that faded with a quiet, "Ow," when the stitches by his upper left lip pulled. The other then tried moving his arm, bringing it up shakily so he could grab the oxygen mask and that was as far as he got, struggling with taking it off enough that Dean took pity on him and removed it. Just in case, he held it close, if Castiel had trouble breathing on his own, maybe the tube they stuck on him screwed with his breathing or the bullet did. So far, he was managing decently, the beeping had not gone off the charts, nothing alarming, some beats passed and Castiel crinkled his nose.

"Why is there a _tube_ in my dick?"

Of all possible things to be concerned about.

"A catheter. You know, to not piss the bed. I think that's the least of your problems."

"Judging by how I feel, I think that's the only thing I can do something about, so I'd really like it out."

Even if he wanted to argue about it, he was likely not going to win and he went along with the request, calling a nurse in. They went through the normal song and dance until he was cleared and it was deemed the catheter could be taken out. It was apparently _"very_ unpleasant," according to Castiel and Dean was just waiting for him to freak about his hand, his chest, anything.

Jimmy and he seemed to have done it all for him because he only stared at his right hand, eyes narrowed in concentration then gave up on it.

"Am I going to be able to move it again?"

"Uh, well, doc said you'll have to go to physical therapy, but getting it back to like it was, she's not sure."

"Ah. 'It's up to me,' isn't it?"

Dean snorted.

"Yeah. She says it could take months, maybe over a year, can't say for sure."

The ATC was back to staring at it then turned his head to look at him, big blue eyes on him and he much preferred how they looked now to when they first ran into each other in Raleigh or when he was scared out of his mind he was going to bleed out. Perhaps Castiel was not taking this as well as he first thought, tears had welled up and begun spilling silently as he lifted his hand and Dean took it on impulse.

"Cas?"

"I'm so sorry… _God,_ I said such _awful_ things to you and… and what if that bullet did kill me, that's the last… that's what you'd remember me by…"

Somehow, it made sense he would cry and freak about that than his reason for being in the hospital and he just kept going on this apology rant.

"I-I had to do it… I had to get rid of him, wanted to do it alone and you… you and Jimmy showed up, I just… I _panicked,_ I had to get you away, he's dangerous, had to keep you safe… I couldn't concentrate with you two there, _I_ _had to keep you safe,_ get rid of him, it kept hurting my head, trying to prioritise… I didn't know what else to do…"

He recalled the Castiel from his nightmares, how his eyes were, his entire expression, blunted affect, nothing was real in any of it. All the smiles, the chuckles, the caresses, when they did come by, they all felt so hollow and wrong. And that night, that night was the same, for the most part. The smile at first was carved out, as were his eyes, words dripping with false sentiment as he said how he sucked some other guy off, let another guy fuck him and how a knife may as well have been stabbed in his heart.

And he was so angry, so hurt, he did not listen to what Jimmy was telling him–in his defence, he was nearly piss ass drunk, too–about how Castiel never would have said what he did at the end. A lot of things were shoved into perspective for him, though, in the span of these few hours, maybe they had been this whole time and he refused to see it, though Jimmy had a point. Castiel could have said he was with another dude and left, nothing more really had to be said and he kept talking, he kissed him and said these things and the sentiment behind them was real, not like the nightmares.

Not that he necessarily forgave the guy right then and there, he was pretty close to it now, or maybe it was that he did and had not yet forgotten or would not for some time. Regardless, he had to feel for him, for plenty of reasons, he looked so contrite and in pain, definitely not from what has been done to him but what he had done and Jesus, he was a fucking sap or something, tears just got to him.

"Hey, I get it. I'm not saying it was okay, I don't think it was okay at all, going off on your own and doing shit that almost got you killed, but I get why you felt the need to do what you did. Hell, we might not have met if I didn't know that. I wanted to kill those two, would've done anything to get my hands on them, put a bullet in their brain. Then I ran into you and when I told you, what'd you tell me?"

"'How about we not do that and get killed in the process.'"

Word for word, it was quite something to the mechanic how even back then, only having known him little under a day, Castiel had this need in him to keep him from being harmed. Him, someone who potentially could be slapped with a kidnapping charge with how he made the other go along with everything he was doing, no room for arguments.

Crazy how the world worked.

"I'm not going to lie, I probably would've been caught earlier than I was by Lilith if I hadn't ran into you and I'd likely be dead. You with your fucking grins and blue as fuck eyes and need to throw yourself right in harm's way for what seems like shits and giggles half the time stopped that, we had each other's back. You see where I'm going with this?"

Castiel was openly staring, watching, listening and it took awhile for his words to sink in through that thick as fuck skull of his, blinking a few times to rid himself of the burn brought on by the tears and cold air.

"You think I… was wrong?"

Fucking hell, he was saying it so uncertainly, what type of damage was done to him that he internalised all these years by that bastard when he was a kid that he had no idea that his reactions to things were so off kilter in such a way that was self-destructive and damaging to himself and everyone around him. Recognising he did bad things to his brother, to him, he could do, yet he could not see the whole picture, did not seem to comprehend the whole, "Hey, killing as a venting and coping mechanism is kind of bad."

Dean nodded, urging him to go on and put it together himself, he needed to learn and hopefully, something like this would never happen again. And he watched the ATC struggle with this, saw his eyes narrow and brow furrow as he tried to piece together what was so wrong about what he did. It was odd, he had this certain picture of who Castiel Novak was. He was smart, resourceful, kind, strong-willed, he was nothing short of a smartass often times and most of all, he was confident in everything he did. Never mattered if it was the first time he did something, he faced it head first without batting an eyelash, he stood his ground when he believed in something, when he needed to protect someone, and he never questioned himself.

Seeing him this troubled and hesitant due to what he was trying to say was so out of place.

"I was wrong in leaving without saying anything… because you trusted me, told me everything five years ago and I didn't now. I should've… talked to you? About what was happening."

"Yeah, Cas. You should've."

"But… you could've been hurt. You almost were. If I hadn't… if I was a few seconds too late…"

The mechanic sighed and brought the man's hand close, lips pressing against his knuckles.

"If you had talked to me, we could've figured it out and we might not have been in that situation in the first place. You wouldn't be here with all… this." Dean gestured to him lying there, "You could've died, Castiel. And I would've…"

Jesus, he did not want to even think about how he would have been.

Castiel saw this and tried to sit up, hearing the heart monitor beginning to beep faster and lungs having to work double time, all of which made Dean panic and try to get him to lie back down. No, he was tired of lying here, he was sitting up, goddamn it, he was going to sit, despite the soreness of his abdomen and pain in his chest. And his side, for some reason, he did not remember getting hit there. Finally, he managed and Dean relented by using his pillows and adjusting the bed itself to keep him from exerting himself any longer, beeping slowing back to normal.

That would have been helpful to know about a minute ago.

Taking a few steadying breaths, the ATC gripped the other's hand as tightly as he could without possibly pulling the IV needle, unable to do much else with his mess of a right hand and general amount of immobility in a hospital bed.

"I could have, but I didn't. I took the bullet, though I didn't do it with the intention of dying, I still had tasks to complete, promises to uphold. Unfortunately, my hand didn't take as much of the impact as I'd have liked. Given it was a split second decision, however, I think it went okay."

"You might not be able to move your hand anymore."

"Then I guess it's a good thing I'm left handed."

Kind of a joke lacking in much humour at all, more fact than anything else, and Dean had laughed at it either way, something that made him smile. Despite it having only been little over a week, having this need to complete his task, knowing he had to push away, it did not mean he missed certain things, certain people. All of that was shoved in a chest, locked and hidden in the deepest ditch his mind could conjure up, it was necessary to do so for the sake of his mission.

The mission that did not go quite according to plan, though there was some kind of positive result from it.

"Fuck, Cas, your hand must hate you after all you've put it through."

Well, if it did, he liked the option of it hating him than Dean or his brothers hating him. Besides, he went through physical therapy once before, when his fingers were broken, he got full use of them back, this could not be too difficult, simply take more time.

Shifting his weight, he felt a pull again at his side and frowned.

"I didn't get shot twice, did I?"

He was not paying much attention to detail more than the fact that he was awake and Dean was there. No, it turned out a tube was inserted to drain out blood or air or stuff that generally should not be where it was. Seeing as he was alive and breathing, his main concern was getting Dean to help him remove this hospital gown enough to see where the incision was made and the bullet hit him.

"Oh, at least it wasn't along my tattoos."

Not that he could not have it touched up, though it was a hassle he would like to avoid.

"You have to start prioritising better, brother."

Castiel jerked his head up and his eyes landed on Jimmy, stepping into the room, Gabriel and Samandriel trailing behind. First response was to examine him, see if he was hurt and not yet treated, he would get right out of bed and complain to a nurse if he was not and then did the same for Gabriel and Samandriel. The words lacked any real bite to them, his brother came over to his side with a smile, eyes teary and Castiel groaned, head falling back on the pillows.

"No, don't cry. You're going to make me cry and I don't think I have enough fluids in me to cry without it burning like a fuc–funnel cake recently pulled from the fryer."

Not the most subtle transition he ever made to avoid swearing, he would take it instead of exposing Samandriel to crude language at such a young age and Jimmy scoffed, lightly bopping his head with his palm.

"You're a dry neck cork."

"Such language. I'll have you know I'm perfectly greased and smell like apple blossoms."

His brother leant in and pressed a kiss to his forehead, "I'm glad you're awake."

Hell, so was he, whatever that freaky dream spin on his memory was not fun at all.

That was not real, this was, and he motioned Gabriel and Samandriel over, focusing on the teenager first.

"Not too bad?"

The teenager shook his head, looking him over.

"Nah. Few days, I'll be good, can't say the same for you."

"If it was appropriate, I'd ask you for a few hits, probably help deal with this."

"Pft. If I had any, bro, I'd share, you look like you need all the help you can get."

Gabriel scooted over and Samandriel got closer to him, eyes wide and the boy was bouncing in place some, biting his lip. So, of course he adjusted himself to reach out with his hand, wiggling his fingers for him to follow and smiling when he did.

"… Does it hurt a lot?"

"No, not much. The doctors are very good at their job."

"But Father hurt you. Gabriel says he's your father, too, that we're brothers. And he hurt you, too."

Castiel had to put a lot of effort to remain smiling at that point, not thrilled at the notion of having the relation to that man pointed out or the use of the word too at the end, though it was hardly his fault, he did not know everything.

"We are brothers, yes. And that's why it'll be alright, I have you here to help me and he's not going to come near any of us again, okay?"

Big eyes stayed on him until the boy nodded and started squirming in his spot, lips pressed together before he blurted out, "Can I hug you?"

The ATC smiled and held open his arm, Samandriel practically plopping himself on him, arms wrapped around him and it kind of hurt, rubbed his side wrong, added weight on his chest and the IV needle was tugging awkwardly, creating a steady burn.

And it was one of the best damn hugs he ever received.

From where his face was smushed against his chest, he heard the mumbled, "I'm happy we're brothers," and he kissed the top of his head, burying his face in his hair after and sighing quietly.

"Me too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I liked the idea of falling back on Castiel knowing Tess and her being kind of like a reaper in his dream. The idea of Castiel ripping apart gender stereotypes is also something I very much like, thus his mention of getting manicures because they feel nice and such. 
> 
> And, with the way Castiel is characterised in this, a catheter probably would be his first concern, uncomfortable things stuck in him, he likes being able to at least fix that. 
> 
> Their talk was something I had trouble with, trying to figure out what Dean would think and say, how Castiel would react. And, for the most part, I hope it's realistic. A bullet to the chest of your loved one meant for you, I think that would make anyone reevaluate a lot of things. And, as for Castiel, now that he knows Bartholomew isn't around, the rush of emotions probably do screw with his head, but that's not an immediate fix to his problems, he still does need help and has to face his issues. 
> 
> All of the brothers do, I think, Bartholomew messed with all of them. Terrible man.
> 
> Though, hooray, references to It Takes Two. If you haven't read it, the smells of maple syrup kind of oatmeal is it, first time they shared a bed to sleep, Castiel pointed out Dean smelt like oatmeal because of his body wash. And, there's kind of an explanation to why Castiel continuously references Game of Thrones with calling him his sun and stars. Cute, isn't it? Maybe that's just me. 
> 
> There were a few times, as well, in It Takes Two, that the twins use kind of random things as insults for whatever reason they have. Toilet brush, peanut shell, things like that. Seeing as there's a six year old with them, they're going to stick with that. I kind of threw in something band related there, a dry cork, because dry corks for a saxophone are the worst and apple blossom scented cork grease is a popular choice at the music store within walking distance.
> 
> Random notes, I'm going to stop now, haha.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel has a hole in his hand, another in his chest, more stitches than he cares to count and has had much better days with how he feels. But, it could be worse, he thinks, and he does start to see some positive in all the muck, which is a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it has been awhile since I last updated this. I'm sorry about that, a lot of stuff has happened and something recently had made it kind of difficult to write. So, I tried, I did, I felt I ought to finish this chapter since it's so close to the end as it is. It might not be the best and it skips a lot of time. I thought that would be good to do because frankly, law isn't entirely my forte, I know only basics and I didn't want to butcher it all up. I did also look up various time frames of adopting and such to make it as accurate as I could. Any typos and such, I'll fix them as I read through. 
> 
> So, enjoy.

This was so frustrating.

"Dean, I'm _fine."_

"Buddy, you got shot and you're refusing to let Jimmy see you like this, I'm not leaving."

"Jimmy is with Samandriel and Gabriel, you should be, too. Or waiting for Sam."

Castiel huffed, displeased at how he was not allowed to even dress himself. Since he was brought in towards the evening to be treated, it took until the next afternoon to be looked over by the doctor and deemed generally okay, at least for discharge. There were the generic instructions, take his antibiotics and anything else he needed, for the dressings, do not do any strenuous activities, and things he sort of sat through, listening to the doctor until his attention was diverted by noise outside his room, so Dean ended up listening to that bit.

He had the most important things down, that counted for something, right?

Jimmy had bought some clothes when he went out to get their brothers some proper food and beds to sleep in for the night, so these jeans were stiff and felt weird. Maybe he might feel a bit better about them if he had put them on. All he got to was pulling them out of the bag and shaking them out with his one usable hand before Dean snatched them and started commanding him, telling him what to do and when.

If he had more of a capacity to be humiliated, that might make the list of things to do so.

More than anything, it was just annoying and irksome that he was unable to do things he normally might be able to do, being treated like he was going to break apart right then and there if he did anything more than breathe.

"Sam can find the hospital and room by himself."

Well, there went that possibility of getting his shirt on himself. It was not even that difficult, it was a simple dark grey button up, not rocket science. The sleeve for his left arm went on without any issue, though when it got to the right arm, Dean had hesitated and Castiel rolled his eyes, shoving his hand in. Gently, of course, or as gently shoving something in could be and it did not really snag or anything too bad, the mechanic getting ready to do up the buttons.

"Oh, crap."

And there also went the possibility of Sam not seeing what the hell happened.

Azures looked beyond the male in front of him to see the younger Winchester standing at the door, gaping and eyes raking over his exposed upper half. Castiel knew it did not look pretty in the least, the area stitched up from that tube, the covered up part over the entry wound, the very obvious discolouration along his abdomen from where he was kicked.

Just, not a pretty sight he would have rather not exposed him to was all.

"Hello, Sam."

"You going to stand there all day or you got something, Sammy?"

Sam snapped out of whatever stupor he was in and walked in as Dean resumed his self-appointed duty of dressing him, eyes occasionally flitting down.

"Uh, well, I called Charlie. Turns out you asked her to look into Bartholo-"

"I'm going now."

Interrupting, he should feel more inconsiderate and rude for doing that, but he did not want to be here for this conversation, not anything to do with that man, he could leave now, right, be alright, the top two buttons were not done up, no one was going to be able to see anything. The ATC was already pushing passed Dean when he grabbed onto his bicep and no, this was not something he could be here for.

"Dean-"

"Castiel."

That stopped him momentarily, unaccustomed to hearing his full name said by Dean enough to be willing to listen to what he had to say rather than simply shrug him off and find his brothers.

"I know the guy has fucked you and your brothers up, I get that. But, if you keep running away, never face it, you're not going to get better, none of you are, and he's going to win in at least one way."

The ATC realised this, he did, it was instinct by this point to shove it down, avoid it, pretend he never knew it existed. A bad instinct, yes, and that was going to lead to exactly what Dean said if he kept it up. Not that it was easy snuffing out something nearly thirty years in the making, but the first step could be gritting his teeth, remaining in place and nodding at Sam.

"What did Charlie find out?"

"So get this, turns out the company he works for outsources to child labour. And, she couldn't get as much on this, but this guy apparently had a lot to do with it, name's Crowley."

Castiel's brain short-circuited at that.

"Wait. Crowley? British, always in a suit, runs a drug operation here?"

Sam looked confused more than anything, unsure where he might have gathered all this information when all he gave him so far was a name. On the other hand, Dean looked just as perturbed as he felt.

"Cas, no. _That's_ who you got mixed up with?"

"I didn't know. I asked Meg-"

"You saw _Meg?"_

"I don't have drug dealers and bosses on speed dial, Dean! I went to ask her who he was, where he was, I didn't ask her to give me Crowley! She said he could find him, though, that was all that was important to me at the time."

Looking back at it now, with a decently level headed perspective, he noticed how it was not something he likely would have considered at a different point. Meg was a part of the past, one he might not really be ashamed of, but the past nonetheless, there was no need to dredge any of that up. Anyone Meg might have told him, it should have been obvious that they would not be good people, obviously Crowley fit that criteria.

And he…

_Oh God._

Castiel got to the toilet and likely would have thrown up actual partly digested food rather than foul tasting spit and made his stomach ache if he had eaten anything. As it was, he was just in more pain now with his right hand clutched close, gasping for air from the strain and Dean was there, patting his back.

"Must've been a hell of a thing they put in your IV."

They both knew that was not the case.

Sam did not.

Dean was doing this for him, covering it up, he did not have to. Hell, he would not blame him if he did not, it was not so far fetched. It also made his heart ache at the level of dedication that he had just completely forgotten in his need to get rid of that man.

Fuck, he was such a bad boyfriend.

The ATC smiled weakly in response, more for Sam who was peering in worriedly and grabbed a paper towel to wipe his mouth, shuffling out and taking a deep breath. That was something he would have to deal with the consequences later, he deserved this, these unsettling and uncomfortable feelings for what he did, it was time to focus on this problem of now.

"Okay. Crowley. He's the dick in on whatever ill doings Bartholomew's company has been up to."

If that was true, then would that not mean they spoke to each other at some point? He surely could not have risen to the top, stayed there without help if this company was so bad and Castiel's eyes widened at what that implied.

"He knew the whole time."

"Cas?"

"Crowley, he gave me everything I needed and told me when he would be getting home, I got there much earlier to not be caught off guard. But, he was already there. His car wasn't in the driveway, everything indicated he wasn't home, but he was there the whole time. He knew I was coming."

Dean frowned at that.

"You think Crowley lied?"

"I think he considered me expendable after I gave him all the information I knew about Alastair and how he ran things."

The very moment they met should have been a warning sign, he questioned his purpose there, what if he was there to pick apart his precious little kingdom, what would he do then. Obviously, he would kill him, that was simply the way business went there, though Castiel had some amount of usefulness to him and only once that was exhausted was he meant to be gotten rid of and what better way than the one that had presented itself to him already.

Shit. He fucked up so bad.

Sam cleared his throat, catching both their attention's.

"Uh, so, I'm going to say I have selective listening and didn't hear some of that. But, the parts I did happen to hear, they can be used to build up a defence against Bartholomew. Judging by what you said, Cas, this Crowley guy's only put to save his own hide, so he might not help him out much, which is good. We just need to find a good lawyer."

Lawyer. Right. They would have to go to court for this. Castiel was not fond of court, to say the least. It seemed, every time he went to one, he was injured in some way. The first major time was when they had to do the whole song and dance for Lilith and Azazel, not fun at all. He had jury duty once and not long before getting the letter in the mail, he had slit his palm open by accident when he was getting ready to leave the hanger after having a quick spin in his plane and then banged his hip on the corner of the table at home. Now this, he was beginning to think courts were cursed or something for him.

He could contemplate later.

"You can find one, then? A good one?"

Sam knew far more about law and lawyers than they both did, it was his job and although he could not defend him like he did back in California, he trusted him enough to find someone trustworthy.

"Yeah. I already made a few calls."

Thank God for his likeable nature and set of skills.

Though, there was something else.

"Samandriel and Gabriel. I don't want them to go into the system. Can we take them in, adopt them or be foster parents, whatever we can do?"

Saying "we," Castiel meant we in general. Jimmy and him, one of them, either of them. Jimmy had far more experience raising a child, having a daughter. And he was likely the more ideal candidate between the two of them, being married–to a woman, which was important to a good amount of people–having a stable income, a house, looking the part. He shared a house with Dean–a man he was in a relationship with, which was also important to the same amount of people and not for the good reasons–and he had a stable job and income, yes, but he hardly looked the part compared to his twin, tattoos and piercings and all.

So, he was not expecting Dean to speak up at all.

"Yeah, court's got to see we're fit, right? We got more than enough room at home, they could take our old rooms, not like we use them for much."

Wide azures moved to the mechanic standing beside him giving him a small side smile and he had to smile back, but did nothing else. Whatever state of mind Dean was in, Castiel had no idea where they stood, after what he did. Maybe Dean was doing this to be nice, maybe he took to his brothers as well, it did not mean that he could still hold his hand or kiss him or anything like that.

What if he broke what they had and it could not be repaired?

It would hurt, a lot, but it would not be hard to understand.

"With all this stacking against Bartholomew, it might not be as hard as it could be. We just need to prove you two fit and jump through some hoops."

"We can do that. Right, Cas?"

"Yes. Any hoops are not difficult at all."

"That's settled then. Let's go find your brothers."

They had nothing else to do here, he had the plastic bag with his belongings in them and they were walking down the hall, out to where his brothers would be waiting when he caught something out of the glimpse of his eye and stopped immediately, feeling the gears in his head try and work themselves down to nothing, the weight on his chest, the itch he could not scratch.

"… Cas? Hey, Cas?"

Acutely aware of his heart thumping in his chest, his left hand clenching, eyes narrowed, breath too loud and so were all the noises around him, Castiel could feel his thoughts struggle for dominance. Just walk away, keep walking and not lift a finger or go right into that room and finish what he came to do, it would be so easy.

So, _so_ easy.

"Cas, buddy, listen to me."

A figure blocked his way and the first thought to pop in his head was get rid of it, remove it and just do it. The hands cupping his cheeks conflicted with that too much and he looked, actually looked, at who was doing it and met green, green eyes, eyes like the forest, all the stars across his cheeks and nose.

Dean.

Dean was looking right at him, an underlying concern underneath that serious expression of his.

"That's not you, Cas. You don't do that, you hear? You're better than him."

Better than him.

Better than him.

The ATC had trouble keeping eye contact, these words felt too honest right now, too genuine, they clashed with what was trying to come up. His eyes darted down, to the side, everywhere but Dean until he ran out of things to look at and had to look back.

Better than him.

Castiel was better than him and he had to prove that. Nodding was a start, Dean dropped his hands and he looked around him into the room.

He had to prove he was better than him.

This was something he could do, by calmly walking over and into the room, inspecting the room first before looking down at the man. He was asleep right now and he cocked his head to the side, thinking how easy it would be to complete his task, his mission.

Setting his bag down, he reached out his good hand, so easy to crush his throat, without a thought.

Instead, his hand gripped his shoulder and gave one hard shake, effectively waking him up.

It took less than a second for him to act but Castiel had the advantage, nabbing the call button before he did.

"I wouldn't try that. I don't think you'd want the nurses to realise who you are quite yet."

The man sneered.

"And why is that?"

And Castiel merely smiled.

"Because what type of treatment do you think you might get once they find out dear old Bartholomew Thorne works little children to the bone from third world countries because he's greedy? Or maybe that he beats his own children? Or that he's such a homophobe that he locked up his oldest son to beat the gay away, even almost killed him? I don't believe they'd take kindly to you."

Even if he wanted to hit him, it was next to impossible being in the hospital and everything he said seemed to get to him, lips curling back and the man leaning forward.

"They'll never believe you. You're nothing but a foolish boy, you've ruined yourself."

"You know, I took that shit for seven years. And I let it dictate a lot of what I did even after that, could always hear those words in the back of my mind. But now? I don't see it, not really. Because I have a family that would go to the ends of the earth for me, I have a boyfriend that means the world to me, I have a damn good job, I have friends, and most of all? I'm happy with who I am. Yeah, I don't identify as male or female and yeah, I'm with a man and yeah, plenty of people give me shit for both of those, you're not the first and you won't be the last, so what? I'm happy with it and I won't let you or anyone else thinking you can put me down for what makes me happy."

Prove he was better, he could do it.

"So, I think they will believe me. I think, between the two of us, you're the foolish one who never grew up, never matured beyond the bratty teenage boy you were when you impregnated my mother, never wanted to put the effort in and that's why she was always too good for you. And I am sorry, truly sorry for you, that you will never see what a fucking ignoramus you are and how you've ruined yourself. Your life sure as hell will get harder from here and this time, no one is going to be there to do everything for you and support you, so you better pray to God that you're not locked up with the worst of the worst."

He did it.

Nothing else to say and not quite wanting to listen to whatever bullshit was going to spew out of his mouth, Castiel turned and was mildly surprised that Dean was standing by the door. Maybe he did think that he was still going to do something, he would not blame him. Another surprise of the day, then, when Dean took his hand and dropped a kiss, right on his forehead.

"I'm proud of you, you know that?"

Castiel was unable to do anything more than squeeze his hand and let out a huff of air, feeling his eyes water a little.

Maybe he did not break everything like he thought.

There would still be things to talk about and repair, but there was hope and that was more than Castiel was expecting.

\---

It was very, very official.

Castiel _hated_ courts.

Every fibre of his goddamn being that was hatred, it was all directed to this damn court. Because of what this was about and it was a well known company, they got a date quite early and Sam found them a very reliable lawyer, her name was Rebecca and she was very, very passionate and sympathetic to their situation. She was not the issue, it was more the whole process and people staring and it was all kinds of irritating.

Rebecca was actually extremely kind and made this a little easier to deal with, she directed them to a nice hotel to stay in for the mean time, talked them through everything and even procured a laptop for him when he requested it. Another thing he had gotten, though it was something the needed to get at some point anyway, was a new phone. Or, a replacement for the one he chucked out the window. Every time he used it, he frowned at it, not quite liking the newest version of the iPhone or understanding the need to make it so big. If he wanted something big, then he would have bought an iPad.

Oh well, that was his fault.

"You will be finished soon?"

For the time being, he sat on the bed, pillow being a buffer between his thighs and the laptop, sighing as he talked to Gadreel. Since he received the laptop first, the obvious solution was Skype, get in contact with Gadreel and Abner and let them know he was fine, though he might not be back for awhile. The first time they video called, he warned them that he was not in the best of states.

Clearly, that did not translate to having a hole through his hand or a bullet hitting his chest to them.

He cared deeply for his friends, the same way they had come to care for him, it touched his heart when, after they asked him if he was safe now and whether he would make a full recovery, they said they would talk to their boss about what was happening, settle it with him.

He was lucky to have such friends.

"This should be concluding soon, yes. That's what Rebecca and Sam have told me."

"And your brothers, they will be coming home with you?"

"That… it might take awhile, the whole process and system, Rebecca said. We have to do a home study, training, be interviewed and give references, everything."

Laptop Gadreel stared at him and frowned, eyes squinting.

"You are worried they will not accept you."

"It's nothing I'm personally unsettled with, my lifestyle. But what if all they see are two men, one doesn't look like father material, much less like an acceptable brother and role model?"

What if he was the reason they were sent into foster care?

Castiel could not handle that.

"They will see you for who you are, Castiel. They will see how Samandriel and Gabriel have taken to you and that will prove your ability to raise them."

Gadreel never seemed to doubt his abilities and he had this stare, this way with words that made it easy to believe what he was saying. Hardly ever in the receiving end of said stare–he did it to others to help them, not the other way around–it was unnerving at first, though five years was enough time to adjust.

"Thank you, Gadreel."

"Of course."

The bathroom door opened and Dean walked out, towel around his waist and Castiel focused on the laptop instead of staring. Out of respect and he was not keen on seeing the bruises that were fading, granted, still did not make them less there to him.

"Is that Gadreel?"

"Yes."

"Hey, buddy."

"Hello, Dean. Castiel was telling me that the verdict is expected today."

"Yeah. It's been a dick and a half so far, but Sam found a good lawyer. Good woman, too. Maybe you two could have dinner sometime."

"I do not think our locations would make such convenient for either of us."

"Both of your guy's loss, then, because Cas and I sure as shit going somewhere for a nice dinner after all this."

Castiel averted his eyes at the look Gadreel gave him as he answered, "You two enjoy, I will enjoy vicariously."

"Will do."

"I will speak to you later."

Castiel tried to ignore seeing the little pencil writing on the screen and text that followed as he said his goodbyes, a futile attempt when he still read it either way.

_Do not keep the door closed and expect one to enter._

Way to be mysterious, like a freaking fortune cookie.

Feeling the bed sink in a little, he signed out and Dean was already sitting beside him.

"You ready for this?"

"I think so," the ATC bit down on his lip, fingers scratching along his splint, "Dean, did you… did you mean that, about the dinner?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Well, I…"

Not something he really wanted to say, not that it was not real enough already. Dean sighed and ran his fingers through his damp hair.

"Look, man, what you did? It's pretty fucked up, I'm not going to lie. And I was pissed. Drunk, yes, but pissed as hell after all that. I probably won't forget that for awhile, it's not something I think I can forget just like that. But, I mean… shit, look at this."

Dean picked up his right hand, or the splint and dressing that it currently was gently, turning it over and running his fingers along the metal and plastic.

"You thought you were doing the right thing. Jimmy was right. If you didn't care, you would've let him go on and shoot me then finished him off, but you didn't. You took a bullet for me. I don't know many people who would do that for someone they don't care about."

Examining the splint and packed bandages, he was thinking of moving his fingers, trying to actually hold Dean's hand with it, unable to get it to move much of anywhere. The doctor told him not to just yet either way, the wire placed in had to have time to adjust and his hand to heal before he would start therapy to get it moving again.

"I do care about you, Dean. I'm not… the best at expressing myself, I know. I sometimes do stupid things I think are right because I was never taught the good, healthy ways. But I will always care about you. I love you."

Dean smiled and patted his forearm.

"I know. I love you, too. Now, let's get ready, we need to be there when that dick gets what's coming to him."

Castiel smiled back.

Maybe he fixed some of it so far.

\---

They did it.

Castiel had sat there, listening to what was being said and could not believe it. Usually, he imagined these thing to go wrong in all possible ways. Maybe he would have a team of lawyers or covered everything up by then, who knew. Sam's prediction was correct, however, whatever part Crowley had in helping him and keeping him out of trouble, he was gone now and it left a lot of holes that were easy for Rebecca to spot and used to their advantage.

Except, now he heard that he was being sent away for a long time, he was likely going to live out the rest of his life in prison and that was more than alright with him, so was hearing the company was under extensive investigation. Likely, Crowley would no longer be tied to it in any way, he would wash his hands of that before anyone had a chance to point fingers, that was how he was in the short time he knew him.

Castiel would like him to face what he caused, pay for what he had done and still was doing. But, that would be going against his word of not taking him apart, he probably could no longer do it, and he did not want to be dragged through that all again.

He just wanted to go home.

He wanted to be able to take his brothers to a nice home and get them settled and have that nice dinner and be in his own home.

Rebecca told him that it might take months and they needed lawyers or caseworkers or such, all he could think of was if he paid more money for really prestigious lawyers or whatever, could it go faster.

It made no sense to him. They were his brothers, he knew he wanted to take them in, he would do the training and house study and he would pay all he damn well needed to pay, but why did the process have to go so slow?

Leaving them here now was not something he wanted to do.

"But I want to go with you."

That was what Samandriel kept saying and did once more now that they had to say their goodbyes for the time being. He would be more than willing to remain in Raleigh, transfer over here and stay with them or at least nearby instead of needing to go and leave them here by themselves. A transfer took some time, unfortunately, and he could not hop back and forth so easily once everything was done and he was ready to take them to Kansas. It hurt, then, to be knelt down in front of the boy and give him a smile.

"I promise you and Gabriel will be coming home with us. It might take awhile, a few months, but we'll be together."

"In Kansas?"

"In Kansas, yes. As soon as you're settled, I'll show you my plane."

His smile became a little easier seeing those big blue eyes sparkle.

"We can fly in it?"

"Yes."

Samandriel accepted that as an answer and gave him a tight hug that he returned, pointedly ignoring the pressure against his chest or pull on his side, the boy needed this. When he got up to talk to Gabriel, Jimmy went along and started talking to him, no doubt about how everything would be okay and he could not wait for him to meet Claire.

"So, months, huh?"

"That's what it usually is or so I've been told. We'll be doing all we can and paying for the best, so hopefully it goes by quick."

Gabriel twirled the lollipop around in his mouth, glancing at their younger brother and sniffing.

"As long as they don't try and separate us, I'm good with waiting. Might be then by the time summer break starts and he'll have time to adjust to life in flatter than a pancake Kansas."

Castiel snorted at that and figured they should address more serious matters.

"Jimmy and I transferred money to your account this morning. And we'll keep sending some monthly, as will Dean, so if there are any fees or anything for school, they should be covered. As it is now, it's not much, but it should be enough to buy necessities and treats every so often."

"Fuck, that's more than we ever had with that dick, I don't even know why I had a card to begin with."

Which was true, his accounts really had nothing in them, maybe a couple dollars in his checking account and twenty-five in his savings.

"It's good to show you've been a customer for years, I think, you get more benefits and offers. At least, that's what my mother told me."

Gabriel pressed his lips together at that, knowing that was still a sensitive topic for the twins, smiling nonetheless.

"She sounds nice. I'm glad, you know, that you two at least had a good parent around."

He was a little unsure what to say that would not come off sounding like a dick or thoughtless, that had to be okay, right? Must have been, because Castiel smiled, even if a small one with a tinge of pain to it.

"She was everything to us, growing up. She still is, I don't think that'll ever change."

He noticed how the other lifted his hand to touch a necklace, thumb rubbing it and taking a glance at Jimmy, he was wearing an identical one.

Not hard to guess what it was with the shape of the pendant and overall look.

"Mother would have loved you both."

Gabriel smiled.

"Yeah, well, for what it's worth, my mother would've felt the same, she wasn't anything like him. I just wish Samandy would've known her, not just him."

Castiel could not imagine what that was like and how badly that had ruined his youngest brother, but at least he was able to do something about it, even if he was unaware prior to this that he had any younger brothers.

Something good came from it, right?

He liked to think so.

"Alright. We have to go now if we're going to make it back to Pontiac in time to stay and catch everyone up then to Lawrence. I'm probably supposed to say something big brother like, Jimmy probably did."

What the hell did that constitute?

"So, don't smoke weed anymore, I guess, that'll make it easier on the process. And don't have unprotected sex. Or ditch school. Or text and drive. Look both ways when you cross the street. Don't steal. Get eight hours of sleep. Don't flip off your teachers, it never ends well. Don't forget to call or text. I'm running out of generic things to say."

Gabriel let out a laugh at that and Castiel was glad to hear that, bringing the other in for a hug and patting his back.

"Take care of our little brother. I'll see both of you soon."

"You got it."

"Cas? You and Jimmy ready to go?"

The ATC looked back to see Dean walking up to them and he supposed they should get going, it was quite a ride back to Pontiac. No doubt Amelia was going to ask him if he was alright, possibly even fret over him because unlike Jimmy, he could not exactly hide very easily what happened to him. And then Claire.

God, what was she going to think?

What was she going to ask him?

Could he even answer her questions?

Claire was a smart young girl, it would not be easy to give some ambiguous response and she would accept it like five years ago, when she was still an itty bitty girl who was fascinated with having blue hair like her uncle.

They would cross that bridge when they came to it.

Right now, he got into the Impala, perfectly fine with Sam riding shotgun and sitting in the back with his brother.

As they headed down the road and to the highway, Castiel fiddled with his right hand, poking at the splint and dressings, tracing along the area where the bullet had blown open his hand and recalling the moments after that.

"Castiel."

Jumping at the touch to his shoulder, he accidentally jerked his hand and hit it against the door, hissing in pain. Jimmy dropped his hand and was staring at him, brow pinched and lips pursed, so he shook it off.

No reason to worry him, none at all.

So what if he could still hear the bullet or remember what he felt when it hit, when he fell and thought he might not wake up, so what?

"What is it?"

"You were picking at them too much, the doctor said not to, that's only going to slow down the healing process."

That was true, he supposed, he should stop doing that and hummed in response. It was merely that it helped him confirm his hand was still there, that he was still there, alive, that he had actually woken up and he was not in some coma or worse, dead, and this was some cruel trick being played on him by the Heaven or Hell he did not even quite believe existed.

Fuck, this was really screwing with his head.

"Are you sure you're alright, brother?"

Double fuck, he must really be out of it or showing it externally if Jimmy was talking like this. And, he had one of two choices, another of those fork in the road moments. If he took one road, that would mean lying through his teeth and making him believe he was okay when he was more than certain he was anything but, just shove it deep down inside and never deal with it, cope with it some unhealthy way the way he always did that usually ended up with having an explosive, self-destructive outbursts when too much pressure was put on him.

On the other hand, the second road, he could be honest about what was bothering him, actually do it the healthy way and possibly not screw himself over ten times over.

Not that it sounded easy, after taking the first road all his life.

It was the easier one in the moment, it always had been, he was shoved onto it before as a little boy and then it became natural because if he did, he would be okay enough to help others around him that he felt deserved it, he never did. Always a terrible person, he did horrible things, never deserved any help at all, he should shut up, deal with it, because it could be worse, that was simply how it was, and if he was getting help, that was taking from those who needed it more than him and he could never do that.

The second one, even now…

Castiel smiled lightly at his brother, flexing his working fingers and deciding.

"It's simply… a little difficult, brother. All of this."

Based on the flicker of surprise that crossed his face, Jimmy was not expecting any sort of honest answer coming from him, at least not so blatant. And, it was not taking road number two, no, he knew that. But, his brother took his hand and squeezed lightly, returning the smile.

"We'll figure it out. All of us, together."

Road number two was too difficult, too out of his comfort zone. Though, that did not mean that he could not look at both roads, say fuck the rules, fuck it all and parade straight down the middle, make his own damn road.

Have faith, Jimmy always said, and he often told him the same thing when it was related to trusting him.

So, he would have faith in something he did believe in. It was not exactly religion like his brother had, not really.

Azures flicked up to the rearview mirror, seeing Dean glance at it and smile at him, something he reciprocated.

"Yes. I think we will."

Though, he believed it was just as good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost at the end now, isn't that nice?
> 
> I wanted to settled things between Dean and Castiel, to an extent, show that they were both willing to work on it. Not there yet, though a lot better than where they were. Also that Castiel isn't quite in a good place just yet, but he really is trying, even if it's not normal to him, he's not used to talking about it or opening up, using healthy methods, overall.
> 
> As for Gabriel and Samandriel, they'll get their happy ending. There are just legal formalities they have to go through is all.
> 
> What Bartholomew's company is accused of, I kind of already had it in mind since I knew I'd have Charlie be the one to discover it and expose him to start with. Reference, I suppose, to the show and when Charlie finds out the company she works does the same thing. 
> 
> I don't quite know what other notes to make, if any.


End file.
